Where Lies Will Not Blossom
by SlyStrukk
Summary: When Draco disobeys everything he's learned in a single action, he is made a prisoner in his own home. Can Harry and Severus save him, or will he be destroyed by an obsessive Dark Lord's plans? Can bonds of love and friendship triumph over ultimate evil?
1. Not a Hero

**Author's Note**: This plot bunny has been stirring around in my mind for a while now, and I couldn't help but put it on paper. I believe this story has one of my most character-based plots to date and I'm pretty proud of it. That doesn't mean that I have forgotten about my other stories! I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I have enjoyed writing it.

**Disclaimer**: In no way shape or form do I own any portion of the Harry Potter Universe. I am not making any profit from this fanfiction.

* * *

**Chapter One: **Not a Hero 

Her eyes were gold.

Not brown, or hazel, but a nearly unnatural golden color – a color that was regrettably dulled due to the pain wracking her small, childish body. Metal chains that seemed to sprout from the polished floor of the well lit dining hall in the regal manor of Mal de Foi held her bleeding and bruised legs down, leaving her upper body free to flop and writhe about when the pain became unbearable.

She'd suffered two seizures, but alas, never loss consciousness. That would be far too kind a fate for her – she was, after all, a Muggle. Vermin. Not even worth pity.

At least, this is what he tried to tell himself as he stared into her blank, teary eyes._ Golden_. He gripped his wand tighter, his palm sweating as he tried to contain the horrified tears, bile rising in his throat. _Show no emotion. Shed no tears. She is not worth the dirt under your boot… she is…_

She couldn't have been more than twelve… the same age he was when his father first put him under the Cruciatus curse. This was wrong… NO! It was right. He was not in the wrong. He was among the powerful, he should_feel_ powerful. It was his job to show those unworthy of this world their place, to show them how pitiful their existence truly was.

"Descreateus Lacarea." Her shrieks bounced off the marble walls, while the portraits of his ancestors watched in smug delight as Lord Malfoy tortured a girl four years younger than his son. He clenched his eyes in disgust, never more thankful for the mask that hid his true disposition.

Dozens of shallow cuts appeared on the exposed flesh of her stomach, gleaming with dark magic that dissipated after a few agonizing moments. High, mad laughter accompanied the girl's panting breaths as she was allowed a brief reprieve. Bellatrix. He shivered.

There were about twelve of them, not include the Dark Lord, forming a loose, informal circle around the girl. They wore masks; different designs and makes, but all horrifying. Twist, macabre, revolting… Death-like. The masks did not shield their identity, at least not to him.

His father was on his left, professor on the right. _Severus, please… save her_. A futile plea, considered his godfather had laughed along with the others a few minutes ago when she was Imperio'ed and forced to dig her fingers into the jagged wounds on her legs. Scathing remarks at her screams… Severus was no hero tonight. He was a monster. Like the rest of them.

"Young Malfoy." Serpent like hiss as the Dark Lord's crimson eyes focused on him. _Monster_.

"M-My Lord?" Draco's voice wavered. He would know. Know that he felt no satisfaction in this, that he would rather be anywhere else, that he was shivering in his own self-disgust.

The girl's small whimpers caught his ears, as she tried to curl up her damaged body, a futile gesture, as it only caused her more pain, rather than preventing it.

"Perhapsss my senssses deceive me… young one, isss thisss not to your enjoyment? This is your induction, child, yet you have not uttered one curssse – not even a chuckle at thisss filth's misssfortune? Perhapsss my senssses deceive me… for your sake, young Malfoy, I hope they do."

"My Lord," Severus interjected smoothly, unemotional, "It is his first session, and my godson will bring prestige and power to your ranks. He wants nothing more than to become a part of your vision; his loyalty is assured. I beg you to give him a chance to correct his error." _I beg you_. How could the proud Potions Master be reduced to this?

This was wrong.

The Dark Lord's wide lipless maw moved into a mockery of smile, revealing the sharp fangs that adored his mouth. "You ssshould know better than to talk out of turn, Sseverusss. Your time with that old fool seemsss to have loosssened your tongue. Crucio."

Voldemort watched indifferently as the Severus writhed on the ground, screams escaping his mouth. Draco was clenching his wand so tightly, he thought it my break. _No, no please._ Draco wasn't even sure what he was begging for.A single tear found its way down his cheek, hidden by hid death-mask.

"However, your ssuggessstion interestsss me. Young Malfoy sssshall be given a chance for redemption." _Redemption, _Draco thought rather hysterically. _Redemption from a man that gets off on tormenting defenseless children._

With a wave of His want, the curse on his godfather ended, who slowly stood in his previous arrangement. "Forgive me, My Lord."

This was madness.

"Kill her." A bolt of ice shot through his veins, for there was no doubt who the Dark Lord was speaking to. _Kill her…_he couldn't. But if he didn't, his life was forfeit. Frighten golden eyes settled him as Draco automatically stepped over to tower over the small figure of the girl. Funny, he had never felt so small in his life.

"No! No, no please! I'll do anything please don't please –" The rest of the girl's plea was drowned out by mocking laughter.

"You presume that you are allowed to speak in our presence, filth? That our minds can be swayed by the likes of you? Kill her quickly, dear nephew, I tire of this game."

Despite his conflicting thoughts, Draco's arm slowly rose, his wand pointing at the shivering figure.

_Oh, gods I can't do this. I can't this is wrong this is wrong this is wrong this is wrong… No! Please don't make me, I can't please_… More tears slid silently down his cheeks. Tears no one could see. Her golden eyes were bright with fear, but at the same time dull with resignation. She didn't expect her pleas to be considered. She had no hope. Draco tried to avert his eyes from hers, but found he couldn't their suffering drew him in, making his task that much harder._ Golden. _

"What are you waiting for, young Malfoy? Kill her. I ssshall not asssk again."

Without turning around, Draco could feel two sets of eyes burning into his back. His father's, angry and disappointed, daring him to embarrass him further, and his godfather's… he did not presume to know what Severus was thinking. He had never met this Severus. Never had he known the man to be so cold.

His hand was shaking violently. _Just do it. Speak the words. Two words. Fuck! Do you want to die, you bloody weakling? SAY THEM! _

"Avada –" The tip of his wand glowed with green, deadly light.

He couldn't do this…_I can't, gods I can't – please don't make me, I can't, no, no, no, no. I won't be a monster! I won't, I won't, I won't, I won't, Iwon'tIwon'tIwon't –_

"Kadavra."

Dull gold shining with green light.

* * *

Harry walked up the stairs two at a time, careful not to jostle the tray in his hands, whistling, a bounce in his step. Things were far from perfect, but they sure has hell seemed that way. 

Harry's spent the first two weeks of the summer wallowing in self-pity and guilt. He cried himself to sleep, only to be woken by horrific nightmares of That Night. The Night when he failed to protect himself. The Night when he endangered the lives of his friends chasing a false vision. The Night he got Sirius killed.

Nothing stopped the constant ache, nothing interrupted the memory of Sirius falling through the Veil. Not even Dudley's petty taunts about his parents roused a reaction out of him, words that usually would have caused him to punch Dudley in his fat chops.

When Harry was whisked away to Grimmauld Place, the pain of seeing Sirius' belongings was nearly unbearable. He was drowning, and he could see the worry of his friends – but it didn't seem to matter. Nothing seemed to matter but his utter failure to keep those he loved safe. Nothing mattered but the fact that everything he touched turned to rot.

That is, until, the day that Sirius showed up on the doorstep of Grimmauld Place half-starved, and delirious, but very much alive. No one knew why Sirius was back, or how – but Harry was willing to count his blessing and leave it at that.

Which brings us to the present, where Harry is currently delivering lunch to his very much annoyed godfather, who, after being confined to his bed for nearly a week, claimed to be "in perfect health." Never mind the fact that he was barely able to stand on his own. All he whined about was "having nothing to do but watch paint peel and drink Snivellus' shitty potions."

Harry smiled wry. Typical Sirius.

"How are you feeling today?"

Sirius, who was looking rather sharp in his silk pajamas and his hair tied back, glared at him malevolently, before replying, "Like I've been lying in this bed like a useless lump while everyone else gets to have fun."

"Cleaning up a house hell-bent on being counterproductive is not fun," Harry replied dryly. "Besides, Siri, you're still sick and your body needs to recuperate before –"

"I'm not sick!" Sirius' glare was not even the least be intimidating while he sported such an exaggerated pout. He looked rather like a disgruntled puppy, not that Harry would tell him that.

"If you don't stop being rude I'll just leave you all by your lonesome…"

"You wouldn't leave your poor godfather to rot away in this dusty old room, would you?"

Sirius' pouting lips, combined with his fluttering eyelashes and clasped hands looked so ridiculous that Harry couldn't help it. He laughed.

It felt so good to laugh again.

* * *

Draco couldn't move. He couldn't see. The darkness was stifling, suffocating. He wanted to scream, but his vocal cords were far too damaged and all he produced was a strangled gasp. Every breath that he wheezed out seemed harder than the last. He wondered how long it would take before his lungs shut down. 

He hurt. A lot.

Draco squinted, trying to make out figures in the darkness. It was a pointless gesture; the Dark Lord said his eyesight would be returned when he "learned to behave."

_Gold. Green. _

Draco wanted to die.

_You idiot. The one time you try to be a hero, and look at where it gets you. You don't have Potter's luck. You don't have anything… Bloody idiot._

"Filthy little blood traitor."

The voice to his left made him start, the cold unforgiving stone scraping against his raw and bleeding back. Goyle Sr.

"I-I may be a blood traitor, but at least I d-don't take my queues f-from a psychotic despot who got defeated by an o-one year old."

Even though he could not see the blow coming, he expected it. If he could see, Draco was sure he'd be seeing white dots.

"I would tell you how much of a disappointment you are – but that would be rather redundant, don't you think so?" The voice was silky, deadly – a voice he'd know all his life.

"F-Father…" Draco had always wanted to say this. "…go fuck yourself."

Draco didn't have to see to know that Lucius' nostrils were flaring with rage as he raised his cane.

He knew what was coming next.

"Crucio!"

His pain would never end.

Screams in the dark.

_Three Hours Earlier_

For a moment, all he could do was stare, stare into her blank eyes. Death's eyes. He couldn't believe it. She was dead.

For a second, Draco was frozen. But only for a second. While the others were still stunned, he grabbed the thin arm of the sobbing girl and attempted to do something he's never done before: Apparate.

_The forest._ He thought desperately. Colors began to swirl together, and Draco kept a tight grip on the girl, his palms sweaty and clumsy. He felt the sensation of being pressed firmly on all sides, and before the feeling overwhelmed him completely, he heard two screams. Both enraged, both promising death.

Draco wasn't sure who he should be more afraid of: the Dark Lord, or his father.

They hit the ground hard, Draco cushioning the fall, the breath knocked out of him. She clung to his heavy black robes, now crying hysterically sobs rocking her bleeding form. He couldn't believe what he'd done. He'd just killed Aunt Bella. Granted, she was vile, and more than just a little insane, but the act of taking another human life…

If she could be considered human.

Sitting up, Draco glanced around. He was in the forest, but he wasn't sure where. There was a major flaw in his plan.

Until he was able to tell where in the forest they were, it would be dangerous to trek too far. For all he knew, he could be heading to the Manor, instead of to town. Damn. This wasn't good.

"Hey…are – are you okay?" _Of course she's not okay. She's been tortured for the past two hours. Idiot. _

He grabbed her shoulders, peering to her face. She was still conscious, and seemed lucid. Maybe this wouldn't be hopeless.

"Listen, we have to find a place to hide. I'm not sure where we are yet. Can you…walk?"

Peering at him weakly through bloody strands of her dark hair, she nodded slowly. Standing up, he held out his hand, and after a moment of hesitation she took it, her hand slick with blood and sweat.

Her first few steps were stumbles, but she was eventually able to catch her bearings. Supporting most of her weight, he began to head for a dense patch of trees, hoping he was heading farther into the forest, instead of back home. _It's not your home anymore. You gave up the rights to call it home when you saved a Muggle. _

"H-How did you do that? We were in the room with…and now we're here." He started at the sound of her voice, soft and meek. Childlike.

"It's hard to explain…" How do you explain Apparation to someone who doesn't even know that magic exists?

"How could those… men, hurt me with sticks? They didn't touch me… but it h-hurt." Her voice broke on the last word, and he could feel her shiver. Draco was surprised by her; he'd always been taught that Muggles were weak and inferior creatures to wizards, but she'd withstood torture that most of his fellow Slytherins couldn't, and was still standing.

Everything he believed was slowly being torn down.

"The sticks… wands, they have help wizards channel their power – magic."

"Are you a wizard too? Why did you help me… I don't…" Her voice was weak; she couldn't walk much farther. She stopped moving forward, waiting for his response.

"Magic, it isn't – it wasn't meant to be used that way. Those men, they were abusing the power given to them. I'm… not like them." _Is that so? Wasn't it you who screamed "You're next Mudbloods!" when the Chamber was open in second year? Isn't it you who is always preaching on blood purity, and calling Muggles scum?_

"At least, I don't want to be like them anymore." She nodded, seeming to accept his answer. She stepped closer to him, and raised a trembling hand to his cheek. Her smile was soft and sad. She shook as her golden eyes took on an odd blue sheen. Something was wrong.

"Thank you."

She collapsed on him, her body almost weightless against his. Lowering her slowly onto the ground, Draco checked her pulse. "No…"

Her golden eyes were half open, the smile still on her lips. She was dead.

"No!" This couldn't be happening. She couldn't be dead. He saved her! This wasn't… this couldn't… it couldn't end like this.

"NO!" His scream rang through the forest as his body curved over hers, tears obscuring his vision. "I was… supposed to save you…"

It didn't take long for the Death Eaters to find him, sobbing over her body. Why couldn't he save her?

* * *

TBC 

All comments and criticisms are welcome.


	2. Never

**Author's Notes**: Wow! I'm so honored that I have people that actually think this story is good enough to review. Thanks to everyone that found time to review this story!

**Disclaimer: **In no way, shape, or form do I own any portion of the Harry Potter Universe. I am not making any profit from this fanfiction.

**Chapter Two**: Never

"Sirius?"

"Hmm?"

"Have you… you know, remembered anything? From the veil I mean." Harry watched the expression on his godfather's face darken, the sparkling eyes becoming flat as he furrowed his brow. "Sorry. I'm sorry – I should have asked anything. Forget about it, I don't need –"

"Harry its alright. Don't get all twitchy. I told you that you could talk to me about anything. It jus that…" Sirius paused for a moment, his expression darkening further. "I don't remember. Nothing, like it was just, just erased. Merlin, I don't even remember the Department of Mysteries fiasco! And you think that I would remember dueling my loony cousin Bella–"

Harry stayed silent, his eyes trained on Sirius. " – Not remembering makes me uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable. It reminds me of Azkaban… sometimes I could barely remember my own identity in that forsaken place."

"…If you don't mind my asking, what was it like? Azkaban, I mean."

Sirius paused before he answered, a small crease appearing on his forehead. "Hm. Let me think of a good analogy. It's like… being in a mental ward, thinking you're the only sane one there. But then you start to think that maybe you're bonkers for thinking you're not, if that makes any sense. Nights and days blend together, a day can seem like a week, and and week a day. And that's without the dementors. Dementors – they definitely complicate the situation."

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but thought better of it. He didn't really know what to say; he couldn't imagine being in Azkaban or behind the Veil. Sirius' cheerful demeanor sometimes made him forget the trials the man had gone through. It was easy to forget that Sirius had been a resident of Azkaban for over twelve years, his only companions being mad convicts and soul-sucking dementors. And now this chaos with the Veil… Harry often wondered if Sirius couldn't remember his time there simply because he didn't subconsciously didn't want to.

Harry couldn't begrudge him for that.

"I'm sorry I brought it up… really," Harry brought up his hand when Sirius tried to interrupt, "There are more important things that we should be talking about, like…"

"Like…" Sirius cocked one eyebrow and made a 'well then get to it' gesture.

"Remus."

A rarely used scowl appeared on Sirius' otherwise handsome face. "Harry," he growled out, "give it a bloody rest already."

"I won't. Every time he's near you, you're practically wagging your tail regardless of what form you're in. Its obvious to anyone that you fancy him, and I don't understand why you don't just – "

By this time, of course, Sirius was sticking his index fingers in his ears and making 'lalalala' noises to block out whatever Harry was saying. Sirius wasn't exactly known for his maturity.

"Sirius. Sirius! SIRIUS!" Satisfied that his last bellowed caused his godfather to stop his ridiculous actions, Harry continued.

"I just want you to be happy, and it's so obvious that you care about him – "

"Of course I care about him! He's my best friend, we've been knowing each other for years! I don't understand why you are making such a big deal out of nothing. I love Remus, as a _friend_."

Harry rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Sirius, last night when I came up to check on you, Remus was sleeping, laying half-way on the bed."

"So," Sirius stated defensively, "what's wrong with that?"

"Well nothing would have been strange about it if you hadn't been sniffing his hair! Sirius, that's just plain creepy. When you are planning on telling him how you feel?"

Sirius blushed a deep color previously found only on flowers deep in the Amazon and played with the loose string on the comforter covering his lower half. "Harry… it's just, it's complicated."

"But anyone looking can tell that the feelings are reciprocated, what's so complex about that?"

Sirius' eyes took on a rather haunted quality Harry had become familiar with, and suddenly he wished he hadn't brought up the topic at all. He was just trying to get some good natured teasing in, and perhaps convince his godfather that he should pursue Remus. Sirius' life had far too much tragedy and not enough happiness, in Harry's opinion.

"Before, y'know, the whole fiasco and me getting throw in Azkaban, Remus and I were a couple." Harry's head snapped up in shock. "Half the time I was there, all I could think about was the fact that he thought I had something to do with your parents' murder. It wasn't a very pleasant thought, so the dementors couldn't take it away from me. Sometimes I wish they could have."

Sirius was silent for a long moment, but Harry was reluctant to say anything. Finally, the man began to speak again.

"When I saw him again for the first time after all those years, I wanted to hold him and never let go. I know that sounds cheesy, but that's how I felt. Since then, though, neither one of us has brought up the topic of our relationship, or lack there of. There's so much bad blood between us now, those 12 years he thought I was responsible for the death of our best friends…"

"Sirius," Harry stated quietly, "It wasn't your fault. I don't blame you, and I'm positive that Remus doesn't as well. He loves you, I can tell, maybe he's just as scared as you are. Maybe he doesn't know that you still feel that way for him. To me, it seems like the both of you are ignoring the big elephant in the room, and that's not fair to either one of you. You both deserve to be happy."

"But… what if we just aren't compatible anymore? It's been so many years, and so many things have changed, we're in the midst of a war – another war. The timing is inconvenient… the world won't stop just because Remy and I have issues with one another."

"When you died, I tried to go through the Veil to pull you back, but Remus stopped me. I think he was still in shock or expected you to jump back out and proclaim it was some horrible joke. Hell, I half-way expected that too. But, when I came here for the summer, I guess it had finally sunk in for him. He looked half-dead, he wouldn't eat, couldn't sleep… it was like he'd given up on life. Did you know that when you first came back from where ever you were all that time, Remus wouldn't let anyone get near you? He just held you and whispered over and over again, 'please don't be a dream, please don't be a dream' for nearly thirty minutes."

Sirius was obviously stunned as he passed a shaking hand through his hair. "I – I didn't know."

Laying his hand on the man's shoulder, Harry replied, "I know. But now that do, there's no reason for you to not grab Remus and snog the living daylights out of him the next opportunity you get!"

The somber mood was lifted for a moment as Sirius laughed and stated, "Cor, but you're lame Harry!"

* * *

The warmth of the sun didn't reach the dungeons, and so Draco had lost track of the days. Every once and a while some enterprising Death Eater would come to his cell and cast a few (admittedly painful) spells at him. He couldn't dodge them of course, blinded as he currently was. That did not frighten him so much.

The times in which his father came to visit were few and far between. Those times terrified him. He was grateful his father did not visit him for often, because he usually brought the Dark Lord with him. His father was very adept at Dark curses, but the Dark Lord… there was no comparison. One spell from the Dark Lord is enough to render him unable to scream, the pain so intense that all he is only able to seize on the filthy floor of the cell.

He wasn't talking of the Cruciatus, no, that was child's play compared to the horrors unleashed upon his unprotected flesh. Draco now knew pain…

Pain was no longer an enemy; rather, it was a bothersome relative come to remind him of his mistakes.

Draco hadn't thought of the muggle girl so much – he didn't obsess over her death, perhaps because his could feel his own death approaching. He was sure that he would be greeting her personally in the days to come. A sardonic smile crossed his lips, no perhaps that was not true… where ever that muggle girl was, it was sure to be a sight better than where he would end up after the Death Eaters released his soul from this useless sack of flesh.

Draco wasn't delusional. Regardless of his recent actions, he hadn't been a good person – and now he was suffering for it. He was suffering for his idiocy; how could he have deluded himself into thinking Death Eaters were anything more than psychotic serial killers? How did he convince himself he was joining a noble order of wizards who simply wanted to restore the Wizarding World to its former glory?

His own father had never shown him an ounce of affection, more likely to strike him then to hug. He had been a fool to believe Lucius' comrades would be any different.

But… there was one thing. Something than brought pride to his heart (if it could be said that he had one.) Never would His mark be burned upon Draco's flesh, for the Mark could only be given to those who were willing. And that was something that Draco vowed he would never be.

No matter the pain, he would never give in. He would never forget her broken golden eyes staring at him, the innocent victim of the worse kind of bigotry and ignorance.

Never.

* * *

Severus Snape had never felt the kind of mental anguish he's felt when the other Death Eaters had found the form of his godson weeping over the body of that poor Muggle girl. Once Draco had Apparated from the manor, he'd held the irrational hope that the boy would somehow escape from this madness.

He had been so wrong.

At the present moment, he was sitting at one of the Malfoy's many dining tables, sipping on a remarkable vintage of wine. He forced himself not to show a glimmer of concern at the agonizing screams he could hear coming from Draco's mouth as he was mercilessly tortured while frantically thinking of a way to get to the boy before his death.

There was nothing he could do that wouldn't blow his carefully constructed cover. Even if he pulled a stunt like what Draco had done a couple of days prior, he would probably end up in the dungeons with the blonde. All the Death Eaters were on high alert, unable to believe that the rather diminutive boy had fooled them so easily and caused them to issue a two hour hunt until he was found. While he wasn't suspected to be anything but loyal by all of the _living _Death Eaters (even in the circumstances Severus had to give Draco praise for the way he had put down Bellatrix, the murderous whore) it didn't mean any plan to save Draco on his part wouldn't be noticed.

He hadn't left the manor since the Revel, nearly a week prior; this was the longest time he'd ever been in the uninterrupted presence of the Dark Lord's 'lapdogs.' None of them had been allowed to leave, as the Dark Lord has yet to dismiss them. The disgusting bastard was spending most of his time watching his servants hurt Draco with such a lustful expression, Severus nearly vomited the only time he'd been to Draco's cell. If only he could visit Headquarters, he might get some of the members to assist him in rescuing the boy.

He had no doubt that at least a few of them would be willing to help him, the lot of Gryffindor fools were nothing if not suckers for a good martyr. And Draco's actions had been anything but selfish; he was still finding it hard to believe that the boy had done such a rash and noble act.

He wondered if he even knew his godson at all.

**TBC**


	3. Odd Sense of Humor

**Author**: Angeles

**Fandom**: Harry Potter

**Rating**: R (Adult)

**Genre**: Romance, Drama, Angst, H/C

**Pairing**: Harry/Draco

**Warnings**: Language, Anal, Explicit Torture, Disturbing imagery.

**Summary**: HD Dark Epic. 'A single tear found its way down his cheek, hidden by his death-mask.' In the summer before sixth year, Draco Malfoy attended a Dark Revel. It wasn't what he expected.

**Author's Note**: Alright, this is the third chapter; sorry it took so long to get out. I'm so grateful that this story got some feedback. THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU! I just started my second semester of college (I'm a freshman) and seeing that people appreciate my writing really cheers me up. The replies to all reviews are at the end of the chapter.

**Chapter Three**: Odd Sense of Humor

Harry was still joking around with Sirius (he was having a good time teasing Sirius with Remus in the room) when he heard the front door slam, setting off Mrs. Black. Harry had never known such a schizophrenic portrait; he often wonder if something Darker than a permanent sticking charm was keeping the likeness of Sirius' mother on the wall.

"Oy, everyone should know by now not to slam the bloody door," Sirius yelled crossly over the screeching of the enraged portrait. He was already affected by the close proximity to Remus, he didn't need to here his mother's voice screaming about 'murderous half-bloods' and 'unworthy intruders into the Most Noble House of Black.'

Seeing the rather peeved expression on Sirius' face, Remus quietly offered to go deal with the unruly portrait… just like he did everything. Gently, softly. Remus always seemed calm and serene, but Sirius knew the passion that lurked behind those tranquil amber eyes. He'd had the benefit of seeing the werewolf loose his famed disposition, of seeing the animal Remus guarded so religiously. His love, even in anger, was so beautiful…

"Sirius?" Snapping back to the present, Sirius saw the concern reflected on Remus' face. He ruefully thought that the other man worried too much about others when he should be worried about himself.

"What?" Immediately after realizing the sharp tone of the word, he grimaced. He hadn't meant to be short with Remus. Even weak as he was; his hormones were jumping all over, alternating between making him horny and irritable. "Sorry Remus. I…"

A rather calculating look appeared on Remus' face before he shook his heading, sighing as he did so. "It's alright Sirius. I know you're tired – I should let you get your rest, I should probably see who was at the door anyhow." Before Sirius or Harry had time to react, Remus was out the bedroom door and halfway down the stairs.

Staring at the empty spot next to his bed, Sirius growled to himself and rubbed his hand roughly over his face. "Bugger all. I'm bad at this, aren't I Harry?"

Harry opened his mouth, intent on saying something comforting, but decided on the truth. "Yeah, you rather are."

Making a pitiful moaning sound, Sirius rubbed at his eyes even more furiously. "Fuck."

"It's alright Siri… really! Maybe you should just, y'know – not talk next time?"

Snickering in spite of himself, Sirius slowly nodded. "That might be a good idea."

* * *

Finally!

The Dark Lord had decided to relieve his followers of their 'duty.' Severus supposed he was the only one to be happy to be leaving the presence of his 'Lord' – the inbred fools were too idiotic to see the Dark Lord could care less about their wants and needs, he only wanted them to serve his own purposes.

No matter, they would serve Him as loyally as their addled brains were able to – which wasn't very adequately, Severus had to admit.

Feeling that his daily quota for 'Death Eater Insults' had been filled for the day, Severus contented himself with the knowledge that now he could finally do _something_ for his godson besides pretending to revel in his pain.

As he Apparated as close as he dared to Headquarters (one could never been too careful of spying eyes, he should know better than anyone) Severus began to mentally prepare himself for the argument that would convince the numbskulls at Number 12 to assist him in the rescue of Draco.

First, he would bring up the courageous save of that muggle girl; nearly all the Order were Gryffindors that would swoon at the idea of getting one up on the Dark Lord.

After that, he would most definitely bring up Draco's rather impulsive killing of Bellatrix Lestrange. That would get Black, Lupin, and even Potter on his side – they all had wanted a 'crack' at the insane bitch. And although he didn't like the presumptuous brat, he knew getting Potter on his side would be essential to getting the Order to issue a rescue mission.

Yes, Potter would be vital.

If some people were still unmoved after all of that, he would then bring up the torture. Severus shivered and quickened his steps as he thought of the pain Draco could be going through at this very moment.

In fact, he walked so quickly, his stride nearly became a sprint and he was at the front door of Headquarters before he knew it. Sparing no moment he knocked, and then rang the doorbell repeatedly as he tapped his foot impatiently.

After what seemed to be an eternity, the door was answered by his moderately bushy-haired student. Not bothering to pay attention to her undignified squeak as he pushed pass her, Severus quickly strode to down the hall, slamming the door behind him.

It wasn't merely slammed for dramatic effect, no, he knew that ghastly portrait of the Black matriarch would stir people better than most things would.

Those who weren't moved by the screeching would certainly be interested as to why Severus Snape was calling an emergency meeting via Patronus charm.

* * *

Draco had once been fearful of his father's anger. Lucius' rage was nearly palpable the last time he had come to 'visit;' Draco could almost taste it in the air as he gasped for breath after each agonizing spell unleashed upon his bleeding flesh.

But despite the horror of feeling his intestines moving in his stomach like snakes after a whispered spell his father never taught him, despite being the disappointment he had always feared he would be, despite knowing he would die in a bug infested cell built by his sadistic ancestors, despite a million other despites…

He could fear his father no longer. Maybe the pain was finally eating away at his mind, but Draco couldn't help but to be apathetic when his father decided that he'd gone two hours without mind-bending amounts of pain throbbing through his body. He was, at best, mildly interest when he heard a spell uttered that he didn't know – but he always found out what they did soon enough.

That is not to say that Draco didn't fear. Oh, he feared. He feared so much that he imagined the essence of it crystallized on the wall he was often chained to, or in the corner he curled in when he was released from the manacles.

Draco didn't know what crystallized fear might look like – he rather imagined it looked like cloudy, dark quartz for some reason, but perhaps it wasn't dark or cloudy at all. It could be a pale blue, or yellow, or even pink.

If that were the case, perhaps the Death Eaters should change their robe colors from black to pink.

Draco laughed, or made a sound that might have been laughter if he were in a nightmarish universe where the rasping sound of a throat too sore and raw to speak was the sound heard when one was joyful.

Nevertheless, he continued making that horrid, horrid sound not knowing what was funny or even why he was laughing but he was unable to stop and oh how it hurt because he'd just screamed himself raw a couple of hours ago and he wanted to stop but he couldn't but how he wanted to and he could see golden eyes through his blindness, staring accusingly and he was sorry and it hurt, hurt, hurt, hurt… and oh please, please make it stop!

No.

No.

Stop laughing. Stop!

Finally, Draco was able to stop.

What had he been thinking about? Oh, yes, fear.

Draco did fear. He feared the times when he could feel someone in the cell with him, breathing harshly, and each breath sounding like a menacing hiss – he feared because he knew it was the Dark Lord.

And worse – he did nothing, nothing but stare at Draco. Draco could feel the red eyes on his skin even if he couldn't see them. He wondered what the Dark Lord found so interesting about him.

Perhaps there was something on his face.

Draco began to laugh again, and he finally gave up the little spark of hope that he would die with his sanity.

TBC


	4. According to Plan

**Author**: Akumu Suta-Raito

**Fandom**: Harry Potter

**Rating**: R (Adult)

**Genre**: Romance, Drama, Angst, H/C

**Pairing**: Harry/Draco

**Warnings**: Language, Anal, Explicit Torture, Disturbing imagery.

**Summary**: HD Dark Epic. 'A single tear found its way down his cheek, hidden by his death-mask.' In the summer before sixth year, Draco Malfoy attended a Dark Revel. It wasn't what he expected.

**Author's Note**: This chapter is intended to make up for the rather short chapter last time. Hopefully this one is to your enjoyment; the story has been moving at a snails pace, but now it starts to pick up. Thanks for all the wonderful feedback – you guys are the reason I write! Tell me what you think about this chapter. 

**Chapter Four**: According to Plan

Severus focused on his task, not allowing the myriad of expressions directed towards him sway his goal: getting Draco to safety. Or as safe as one could be in the presence of so many bumbling, idiotic fools – _Gryffindors_. Of course, the same idiocy (or heroism, as one could point out) that he criticized would allow him to convince most of the Order that conducting this rescue mission was the only option. Only the most obstinate Order members were likely to protest rescuing someone who nearly became a Death Eater. 

Looking at Mad-Eye Moody's suspicious expression and swiveling eye, Severus immediately put him in the 'obstinate' group.

Standing in the far corner of the room was Lupin, fitting right into his plans. While he was aware that Black was too sick to attend meetings (thank the gods) and Potter was still considered a child by most of the Order, he had access to them both through Lupin. It was quite fortunate that he was dealing with the most reasonable of the three. 

This didn't mean Severus actually liked the wolf; however, he was tolerated. 

"Severus, dear," Severus grimace, unable to understand why Molly Weasley insisted on applying that affectionate term to him; he was most certainly not her_dear_, "is something the matter? Has something happened on the Death Eater front?"

Of course something had happened, did she think he called the meeting to twiddle his thumbs and offer them some tea? 

As Severus opened his mouth to reply, the Floo flared loudly and he at once felt the presence of powerful magic he was dreadfully and unfortunately familiar with.

_Finally, Albus is here. Hopefully he can keep his insane grandfather act to the bare minimum; I am not in the disposition to deal with his ridiculousness._

Albus walked, swept more like, into the cramped dining space. He was wearing what might have been a respectable royal blue robe – if little twinkling stars on the hems of it weren't randomly bursting in song. Despite this, all eyes roved to him for guidance, understanding, and approval. 

Severus lifted his eyes to the ceiling and prayed that he would have the patience.

Before Albus would have a chance to get into full twinkling-eyes stride, Severus decided to get down to business, so to speak.

"A number of days ago my presence was required by the Dark Lord," Severus sneered as a few people tried to conceal their shudders, "at a Dark Revel."

Even more shudders accompanied this statement; everyone knew what went on at such a meeting – the torture of some poor victim, a muggle usually. Those who did not flinch glared at him accusingly, implying he had in some way gained enjoyment from said torture. 

The fools. 

Severus stared them down unflinchingly, using the expression usually reserved for students who dared to ask stupid questions during a lecture. Needless to say, no one commented on the statement. 

"This Revel, however, was an initiation ceremony – I wasn't informed beforehand. This prospective Death Eater would have been admitted into the Inner Circle, close to my own position." Sneers accompanied this statement; everyone was waiting for the name of the newest high ranking Death Eater. No one had noticed the fact that he said 'would have.' 

Noticing the ever present twinkling in Albus' eyes, he amended that to almost everyone.

Julius Smith, who happened to be even more obnoxious than his son, began to say something that would have no doubt been a sad attempt at sarcasm.

"Only the Inner Circle was present for this revel, a muggle girl was capture for 'entertainment.' The recruit was reluctant to join in the torture – I tried to cover him, but the Dark Lord noticed it almost immediately. There is little that escapes His notice. He demanded that the recruit kill the muggle girl –"

"Are you getting to a point, Snape, because I don't see how any of this is relevant to us? The wannabe Death Eater killed the girl, the end." Smith now had a rather accomplished look on his face, not seeing the disapproving looks garnered his way by his fellow Order members.

"Save your condemnations until after I give my report, Smith. Perhaps if you could hold your tongue for more than a moment, you would discover that the girl did not, in fact, die by the recruit's hand," Severus hissed, unable to keep up the rather cordial air he had been putting on previously. 

The comment effectively shut up Smith (although a silencing charm in his general direction would not have been remiss) and Severus saw it fit to continue. 

"The recruit used the Killing Curse on a nearby Death Eater and Apparated with the muggle girl, attempting to get her to safety. Bellatrix Lestrange is deceased –" The caused an uproar, the Weasley twins even seeing fit to high five one another. Lestrange's death was quite the accomplishment; she was often revered as the Dark Lord's most dangerous follower due to her insanity and manic loyalty to the tyrant Lord. Mentally Severus smirked; things were going as he had expected them to – now it was time to drop the bombshell. 

"So they were able to escape?" Lupin stated this nearly inaudibly, but the question quieted everyone.

"No. The muggle girl was under a caster dependant curse that allowed the Dark Lord to stop her heart regardless of her distance from Him. The recruit… he was found hovering over her body, still trying to revive her. He currently resides in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor, undergoing endless torture for the death of Lestrange, and defiance of the Dark Lord."

"You mean the poor thing is still there? Alive?" Molly Weasley looked properly horrified at the prospect, and Severus answered with a solemn nod. 

"The poor dear," she breathed quietly, looking close to tears. "We can't just leave him there to suffer for doing the right thing. But, Malfoy Manor – how in the world could we even attempt to infiltrate such a place? Death Eaters must be all about it!"

Many people were nodding in agreement to Molly's statement – things were nearly assured, now if only…

"We will come up with an effective plan, I am sure."

Severus let out a barely concealed 'whoosh' of breath. Albus was consenting to a rescue attempt; thank the Gods. 

"Sure ye should be doin' that, Albus? The recruit is probably near dead already – we shouldn't be wastin' our man power with lost causes," Moody growled out, his magical eye shifting across the room as if daring anyone to disagree with him.

"Forgive an old man for believing that no cause is lost, Mad-Eye," Albus remarked softly. In another circumstance, Severus would have said a scathing reply to such a Gryffindor remark, but now it was this type of thinking that could save his godson's life. Severus was far away from attempting to shatter Albus' naïve delusions, this time. 

"The courage to act against inhumanity at personal risk is a rare, precious trait. This recruit had to opportunity to make the worst mistake of his life. Instead, he chose to turn it into a moral triumph by refusing to murder an innocent, knowing that he was openly defying the most powerful Dark Lord in centuries. Such a sacrifice should not be ignored. As members of the Order of the Phoenix we have a duty to honor this sacrifice and remove the recruit from Malfoy Manor if possible."

After this rather long-winded and 'inspirational' rebuttal to Moody's skepticism, many seemed to agree with their leader. Lupin in particular seemed eager to be part of the rescue effort in his own quiet, inconspicuous manner. 

Severus knew this was likely to be an uphill battle – there was still plenty to be done before they would be prepared to infiltrate one of Voldemort's strongholds. But he couldn't help but reassured that his godson's actions against the Dark Lord were acknowledge and respected as they should be. Older men would have been unable to pull such daring heroics off – even if Draco perished before they could get to him, he would be honored. 

It was the least he deserved.

* * *

"I wish I knew what was going on," Sirius grumbled. Harry rolled his eyes, waiting for another round of the 'I'm-perfectly-fine' game. As much as he loved his godfather, Sirius could get quite exasperating after being confined to the same space for a large amount of time. 

This would be the third day in a roll that Sirius whined about being stuck in bed, but there was nothing that could be done for it; it's not as if there was another way for Sirius to get well. He just had to tolerate it until he was able to at least stand without aid. 

More often than not, however, Harry wondered if Sirius merely felt uncomfortable with staying the same room for days at a time. Considering he was incarcerated for nearly twelve years, it was highly likely though Sirius wouldn't probably admit it. 

Harry disliked the idea of his godfather being reminded of Azkaban and resolved to try and be as patient with Sirius as possible, despite how much he acted like a brat. 

"Don't worry about it so much, Siri. It's not like Remus is going to withhold Order information from you. He'll probably come up and tell you as soon as the meet's over."

"If he decides to come up at all. He didn't exactly leave on good terms, you know."

"I'm sure Remus has forgiven you for being a bit short with you. He always was the mature one."

Sirius nodded thoughtfully and stroked his chin although he no longer sported a beard. "Hm. I guess you're right; Remi was never one to hold grudges any- hey! Are you saying I'm not mature? I'll have you know I'm plenty mature!"

Harry raised an eyebrow, looking remarkably Slytherin for a moment. "Oh, really?"

Sirius huffed. "Yes, really!"

"So it wasn't you who was making noises with his arm pits not 15 minutes ago?"

"Well…"

"And you didn't giggle like a third year when Hermione was describing veela mating practices just two days ago?"

"… Whatever."

"Or who tried to change the walls to bright blue and instead turned himself into a chicken when we told you not to use magic because yours was still a bit wonky from sickness?"

At this last statement Sirius replied with stoic silence, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting like a five year old. He was no doubt remembering how they had to fire-call Professor McGonagall because no one else had been able to sort Sirius' self-transfiguration. 

Harry snickered, laughing full blown when Sirius stuck out his tongue. "You just proved my point."

In response Sirius blew a raspberry. 

Harry was about to respond with a raspberry of his own when the door opened, and Ron came in. 

"Hey Ron, what's going on down there?"

"You're guess is as good as mine mate, considering Mum still won't let me join. Mind you Bill, Charlie and even the bloody twins have been sworn in! But no, not her little Ronni-kins," Ron complained, imitating his mother's tone nearly perfectly as he walked to the only other free armchair in the room, slouching as he sat down. 

Ron, who had been over six foot tall at the end of fifth year, had grown even more. Harry couldn't help but feel jealous even though his own growth spurt had left him just shy of six foot. Ron towered over everyone in Grimmauld Place, except for when Hagrid was visiting. 

Despite his mother's abhorrence for long hair, Ron had grown his hair in much of the same way that his brother Bill had down. Considering Molly had her sons on such short leashes (with the exception of Fred and George, because Harry couldn't think anyone who could truly control the two pranksters) the small rebellion was quite the accomplishment. Harry mentally grinned as he recalled all of the times in just this week that Molly had mentioned cutting Ron's hair.

After spending much of his time outside with Harry as they attempted to make sense of the overgrown forest of a backyard at Grimmauld place, Ron eventually acquired a tan instead of freckling. All in all, Ron was going into a handsome young man.

Harry shook himself out of his thoughts, wondering when he'd begin to notice his best friend's physical attributes. 

Harry flushed as Ron looked at him rather pointedly. Obviously he'd missed something and Ron was waiting for him to respond. 

"Erm, sorry. What did you say?"

Ron signed in obvious exasperation. "I said that whatever's going on, it's got everyone up in arms from what I can tell. I asked if your scar had been hurting lately."

Harry frowned thoughtfully. "Well, my scar hasn't ached in a while, not since the whole Department of Ministry debacle to be honest," he murmured glancing as his godfather, who had a rather pensive look on his face. No doubt, he was vainly trying to recall where he had been for all those months. 

"We'll just have to wait until Remus comes back up."

At this Sirius piped in. "He might not say anything in front of you guys, considering you're not Order members."

"But that's not fair! We've already battled the Death Eaters and it's not like we'll go around blabbing Order secrets – "

Sirius held up a hand, stopping Ron's rant. "Don't I know it! I think you both, along with Hermione, should be allowed to join, and so does Remus. He knows you're all mature enough to handle it, but he probably won't say anything to respect your mum's wishes. You known how Remus is about things like that," Sirius remarked, a fond smile on his face.

Ron nodded gloomily. "Yeah, you're probably right."

"Well, think of it this way… once we're seventeen we can join and there's nothing anyone can do about it."

Ron snorted. "Speak for yourself. If I'm still living at the Burrow by that time she'll make sure that I stay out of Order business."

Harry winced. "That's rough mate."

At that moment, Hermione nearly ran into the room, her long braid waving behind her. "You'll never believe what they're discussing right now," Hermione panted, eyes flashing excitedly. 

Ron nodded back at her, a little dazed. Harry knew it had little to do with what she had to say, and more to do with her blue tank top. He rolled his eyes, wondering if he was cursed to constantly be surrounded by people who were plagued with chronic denial. 

Then he furrowed his brows. "How do you know what they're talking about? You're not allowed down there during a meeting any more than we are."

Hermione sighed, raised her right hand and Harry realized she was holding one of the twins' Extendable Ears. "Professor Snape just came back from that Dark Revel we're not supposed to know about," at this she rolled her eyes, "and he was in such a hurry to call the meeting that no one warded the door. It was relatively easy to find out what they were saying. I can't believe you guys didn't even try!"

"Yeah, well it's not like it matters since you did it for us."

For a moment Harry thought Hermione was having an apoplectic fit. Grimacing, he wondered how Ron always knew exactly what to say to piss Hermione off. "You can't simply expect I'll be around to do everything for you, Ronald! I can't believe how lazy you are."

"Just because I don't find it exciting to memorize the Goblin Confederation Code of Conduct doesn't make me lazy – I'm normal. That's more than I can say about you." Ron then turned and looked at Harry. "Do you think it's normal to get up at the crack of dawn on a Saturday morning in the _summer_? Unnatural is what it is!"

"Just because I don't waste my days away, waking up at noon, eating everything in sight –"

"Oy, I'm a growing boy!"

"Idiot, more like –"

"Hey, hey, guys cut it out," Sirius exclaimed after watching them go at it for a while. As interesting as it would be to see Hermione transfigure Ron into a tea cozy, he doubted many others would be as amused. 

For a moment, Ron and Hermione stared challengingly at one another, and Harry feared that another fight was about to break out. But slowly, they glanced away from each other and Hermione said, "Yes, well, as I was saying…"

TBC


	5. Progress In More Ways Than One

**Autho**r: Akumu Suta-Raito

**Fandom**: Harry Potter  
**  
Rating**: R (Adult)

**Genre**: Romance, Drama, Angst, H/C

**Pairing**: Harry/Draco

**Warnings**: Language, Anal, Explicit Torture, Disturbing imagery.

**Summary**: HD Dark Epic. 'A single tear found its way down his cheek, hidden by his death-mask.' In the summer before sixth year, Draco Malfoy attended a Dark Revel. It wasn't what he expected.

**Author's Note**: I want to get in the habit of updating at least once a week or two, so I'll try not the slack off. Unfortunately, school can put a damper on my creative juices – but I am really excited about this story. I'm finally out for summer break, so yay! Once again, thanks to all of my wonderful reviewers! I LOVE YOU GUYS!!

**P.S**: There isn't much Harry in this chapter, but I promise that'll all change in later chapters. For now, I've decided to give a bit more Remus, Sirius and Severus!

**Chapter Five**: Progress (In More Ways Than One)

"Blimey, 'Mione – and this guy is still _alive_?"

Hermione sighed heavily. "Yes, but I don't even want to think of what condition he might be in. Snape said that he's being kept to teach the other Death Eaters about what happens to traitors. Hopefully that means there will be some of him left when the Order gets there."

"You shouldn't be spying on Order meetings, Hermione," Remus reminded her mildly from his seat on the edge of Sirius' bed.

Hermione flushed slighted, but looked decidedly unrepentant regarding her eavesdropping. "Professor, it's not as if we aren't aware of the Death Eaters, or what they are capable of. As much as I adore Mrs. Weasley, I'm tired of her treating us as if we can't handle ourselves. Some of the current members haven't even been in an actual battle, meaning we have more experience than them."

Harry, who had been oddly quiet while Hermione explained the latest development, quietly stated, "I understand their wanting to protect us – if I had my way, the only people fighting this war would be Voldemort and I. But this _is_ a war. War kills indiscriminately, and so long as the Order sees fit to withhold information from us, the more dangerous things are for us. It's not like a Death Eater is going to point their wand at us and say, 'Oh, wait – you're not of age' and walk off."

"Too right, Harry," Ron murmured.

"I fully agree with you all – but some members, Molly included, will look at you and see nothing more than three sixth years," Remus explained.

"And how do you suggest we go able changing that?" Hermione asked archly.

Raising an eyebrow at her tone, Remus smirked slightly. "Not much you can do about that, I'm afraid."

"You don't think that you could, y'kno, have a word with me mum? Convince her I'm old enough," Ron mumbled, obviously not believing anyone had much hope of _convincing_ his mother to do anything.

Sirius snorted slightly. "I don't think Remus would have much luck – this is my house, and all Molly ever gives me when I try to talk to her about letting Harry into the meetings is a dirty look and says something under her breath I'm pretty sure is more vulgar than anything I've ever said."

"Oy, my mum doesn't curse!"

At this statement, both Remus and Sirius gave Ron slightly incredulous looks.

"What?" Ron stated defensively.

"Nothing, Ronald," Remus said with a slightly amused smile, not seeing the sappy expression on Sirius' face as he accidentally brushed the other man's hand with his own.

Harry sighed heavily in disgust – he'd never met two people who were so oblivious to each other's love. Glancing at Ron and Hermione, who were strategically seated as far away from each other as humanly possible, he amended that to four people.

They didn't know what they had and it incensed Harry to see them waste time with meaningless arguments and unsaid feelings – it was pointless, completely and utterly bloody pointless! Harry had never felt love like that, the only romantic feelings he'd ever had for another person had been with Cho, and even they were rather shallow. The thing he liked most about her was that she was a decent seeker, for Merlin's sake! For all he knew, he might never even get to experience "true love" when one considered the likelihood him living past the war. The whole "…neither can live while the other survives…" line was less than reassuring.

"… and so I'm not really sure what tactical plans can be made at this point, but we've scheduled meetings every night until after the rescue can take place. One can't just invade Malfoy Manor on a whim – it would be suicide to even think of such a thing. But it's rather definite that a rescue attempt will be made, despite all the risks. Albus is quite inspired by the story Severus gave, and will do all that he can to insure the survival of the recruit."

"Did Professor Snape tell you the name of the recruit? It's rather awkward to continue calling him or her that," Hermione asked curiously.

Remus was halfway through a shrug before he froze, an odd suspicion wriggling its way into his mind. It was rather odd that Severus had gone through lengths to avoid naming the recruit – and surely he would have known. A death eater that was immediately admitted into the Inner Circle would most probably be the son or daughter of a current member of the Inner Circle, perhaps even someone that Severus had taught and knew relatively well.

Seeing the odd way everyone was staring at him, Remus put his suspicions to the side for the moment. He would figure it out eventually, no doubt.

"No, he never did; I'm sure it wasn't purposely."

Hermione looked doubtful; not surprising considering that anyone who'd ever known Severus knew that little he did was unintentional. The Head of Slytherin could write a series of books on lies of omission and manipulation.

A small smile that seemed slightly strained on his face appeared as he addressed the three teens. "It's been a long day and it's getting rather late. Why don't you all get a bit of shuteye while you still can; I have a feeling things are going to be rather hectic for the next couple of weeks."

As polite as Remus was, a dismissal is still a dismissal and the trio left the room after saying their goodnights to the two men. No doubt they would be up for much longer discussing the new developments, especially considering Harry was rather quiet. Harry could be closed-mouthed on a subject for a while, but once he got to talking about it, little could stop him until he felt the problem was resolved.

Glancing at Sirius, who shared this trait with his godson, Remus decided it to be a Gryffindor characteristic.

"So… uh, Moony… I, um," Sirius began, hating the awkwardness between them. There had been a time when the two of them could spend the entire night up talking about nothing, or more often than not Sirius talked while Remus listened. He missed having those intent amber eyes focused on him as he spoke, seeing them slip down to his lips occasionally until Sirius gave in and planted a long slow kiss on Remus' pouty lips.

Gods, how he missed it.

Especially now, with Remus staring at him expectantly with those damned eyes. If only he could look away from those spirited pools for a moment, perhaps he could think of something to say that wouldn't make him sound like a complete and utter pillock. There was also a time when Remus would have teased him for being speechless for once, but that was either here nor there so Sirius better think of something to say because Remus was still looking at him and – and…

"I miss you, Remy." There, he had said it. He'd finally touched on issue that was causing the both of them so much grief. Now the snitch was in Remus' field.

"I missed you as well Sirius," Remus replied mildly and Sirius had the distinct feeling that they were talking about two completely different things.

"No – I mean, I missed you. As in _missed _you." 'As in I want to spend the rest of my bloody life with you.' He wished the werewolf would stop playing dense.

All at once, Remus' eyes darkened in grief and filled with tears as he turned his face slightly away. Startled by the sudden change in his demeanor and once again struck dumb by the other man's unassuming beauty, Sirius remained silent.

"I, I'd thought I'd lost you. When I saw you fall through that veil – it was like another of your pranks. Remember that one you and James played on me in sixth year, when I thought your neck was broken and it took you hours to calm me down? I thought it was like that – I kept saying to myself, 'he's just joking around' and eventually that led to 'this joke's not funny anymore, when is he going to give it up?'" Remus' voice cracked in that moment, and Sirius reached out to lightly lay his hand over the other man's.

"I think it took me a while to finally take it all in. It must have finally hit me when I'd had a nightmare – you know, the one where I turn and never change back – and I walked to your room. You were always there to calm me down after my dreams, but when I opened the door no one was there. It wasn't just that; the room looked unused, dusty as if you'd never even been there at all. I couldn't even smell you anymore. That's when I thought to myself 'He's gone forever' and I remember falling to my k-knees. I-I can't, oh Gods." Remus attempted to pull his and away from Sirius,' but the dark-haired man yanked back hard, pulling Remus to his chest and holding onto him tight.

It was then that Remus began to sob in earnest, and Sirius felt as if a dementor was slowly sucking out his soul. How could he not see how much his death had affected the other man? Instead of seeking Remus out and making sure he was alright, Sirius had allowed the wound of losing him to fester, one that could not be immediately healed by his miraculous reappearance.

Remus lifted his head off of Sirius' chest and attempted to reign in his emotions, but seeing Sirius' own teary eyes nearly sent him into hysterical sobs once more. He couldn't help but hang on to the irrational fear that he'd wake up and Sirius would no longer be there. No one knew how the Black heir had managed to escape from the veil. What if whatever had brought him back took him away again? Remus couldn't imagine who devastated he'd be – it would be his end. He couldn't live with loosing Sirius twice.

Almost as if the other man could read his thoughts, Sirius attempted to reassure him. "I'm not going anywhere, Moony. I promised nothing on this earth could take me away from you again. Only a fool would not want to see your face everyday."

This of course caused him to snort with laughter despite his tears. Severus must have really put something in those potions if Sirius thought he was beautiful.

"Hey! I'm not joking, you're one hot piece of arse." Although this comment nearly caused Remus go start with full-blown laughter, he felt the deep flush on his face that Sirius always managed to inspire.

"Your delusions never fail to make me blush, Padfoot."

"I'm not delusional – if anything, you're the delusional one for not being able to see how bloody attractive you are!"

Smiling tiredly and wiping his tears away, Remus settled into one of their oldest arguments. "You're attractive, I'm – scarred."

"Your sexy, and each scar you have only deepness your beauty," Sirius stated solemnly, aware of the fact that he sounded like the biggest pouf, but not caring so long as he was able to keep the cute blush on Remus' face.

"Going to start writing poetry about my eyebrows now Siri?" Remus teased, an unwitting smile finding its way on his face.

"I might if it gets you to kiss me," Sirius murmured, regretting the statement the moment it left his lips. He was moving far too fast, and he didn't want to scare Remus off.

Imagine his surprise when Remus leaned over him, slowly placing his lips on Sirius' in a chaste but electrifying kiss.

"Oh," was all Sirius was able to say afterwards, hoping he wouldn't wake up soon with sticky shorts.

That soft smile still teased Remus' face when he replied, "Yes, 'oh.'"

"Gah." Sirius' intelligence was steadily increasing – maybe after the end of an hour he might be able to get out more than one syllable words. If 'Gah' was even a word.

"You must be rather tired. I'll leave you to catch up on your rest."

With that Remus left the room, closing the door silently behind him as Sirius watched in utter silence.

For a moment Sirius remained frozen before a huge smile broke over his face. Whooping slightly while waving his arms around like a madman, Sirius congratulated himself for a job well done.

Remus kissed him.

Actually kissed him!

Things were far from perfect and there were still many problems to address before they could rekindle their relationship – but hell, it was a start.

* * *

Severus was nervous, an emotion he hadn't truly felt since his teenage years. Oh, he'd been enraged, indignant, disgusted, and even fearful – but never nervous. He thought anxiety to be a truly useless and lackluster feeling, and yet, what he was currently experiencing could only be described on such terms.

He'd gotten clearance from the Dark Lord himself to visit Draco in his cell by giving a truly inspiring performance concerning his absolute rage and desire to punish the boy for his traitorous actions.

It was nearly enough to make him laugh.

Currently, he walked the halls of Mal de Foi, drawing nearer to the staircase that would lead to the massive underground dungeons. Severus' feet felt weighed down with lead, making each step a trial of strength of a magnitude he'd never felt before. Being a Death Eater, albeit a disloyal one, he'd seen sights that would break even the "strongest" of men.

He'd laughed as women and children were raped outside their burning homes, pretending to be aroused by the atrocious display. He'd watch guard dogs tear their owners apart with an impartial face, seemingly reveling in the agonizing screams. He'd played the part of an amused sociopath as members of the Inner Circle took turns throwing pain curses at a small girl not a full two weeks ago.

But Severus wasn't sure he was prepared for the sight of his godson's torture ravaged body. He was under no illusions – if Draco was not at the shores of the river Styx (1), his mind was most likely gone, caved under the pressure of dozens of Dark spells and curses. He was not sure he could bear to see the remains of a once vibrant boy – a boy that on occasion could make even the likes of Severus Snape smile.

But there was purpose behind his actions. Severus, along with other member of the Order of Phoenix, had begun to develop plans to extract Draco from the Death Eater stronghold. Before they could act, however, they needed to know how far off Draco was – not that they knew the recruit they were helping was the heir to the Malfoy fortune. They needed to know if Draco would even survive a siege, or if his condition was so fragile that Dark enchantments were being employed to keep him alive. It wouldn't be a first for the Dark Lord to use a mixture of healing magic and necromancy to keep victims alive as the limits of the human body were stretched and breached.

If this was the case, then there would be no hope for Draco. Severus knew this, being far from an idealist – if necromancy was being used to sustain Draco, he would be forced to euthanize the boy. He refused to let his godson become a soulless sack of flesh so that the Dark Lord's followers could gorge themselves on their desire to cause pain. He promised to not shed tears.

No, Draco deserved more than his useless sobs. Much more.

He was at the door now. The guard stepped aside and took his leave after giving Severus a leer and extracting a promise to 'make that little traitor suffer.' Simpleton.

The floor was grimly and the air cold as Severus stepped into the surprisingly large cell. The stone walls were dark and stained – too dark to see the blood there, although he could smell it. The door slammed shut as he took another step forward and Severus cursed himself for jumping.

After taking a moment to fire off about half a dozen silencing and anti-peaking charms, he scanned the room for his godson, dreading the macabre scene he eyes would soon witness.

He almost missed the huddled form of the boy that was situated in the corner.

He was dressed in rags, his pale arms and legs sliced in strategic places – blood steadily dripped from the shallow cuts. Severus could tell he was shaking, whether it was from the cold, fear, pain, or a combination of the three he did not know. Draco's hair, free of the band that always tied it back, covered his face, shoulders and upper arms. The color was an unnatural pale blonde that rivaled the locks of a Veela, shining so brightly in the dimly lit cell – wait.

Despite the blood from his numerous wounds and the dark bruising seen on his exposed limbs, Draco was oddly _clean_ for a prisoner. Most people put in these cells were swimming in their own filth, but besides the acrid smell of dried blood, the room failed to reek with urine and feces like the cells of other victims. Someone was cleaning Draco.

Even worse – Severus was positive the boy had sustained terrifying injuries; yet, he could see no evidence of them. They were healing him as well.

This chilled Severus to the bone. Why would the Death Eaters do such a thing? What were they planning to do with him? Ignoring the temporary stab of hysterical fear, he slowly edged closer to the shivering boy.

"Draco?" There was not response other than an obviously instinctive flinch. His heart ached.

"Draco, its Severus. I've come to help you, can you understand me?" He was close enough to touch him now, but he dared not.

Instead, he waited. The moments ticked by slowly, each second adding a horrid anticipation.

"Liar." The voice was raspy from screaming and barely discernable – but it was Draco's. Thank the Gods.

"I assure you I am not deceiving you. It is Severus. I'm going to help you, Draco."

"Like you helped that girl? The false emotions in your voice are an old trick; you can do better. Don't expect me to be surprised when you start t-torturing me."

Despite the harshness of the words, they made Severus rejoice. Draco was coherent enough to carry on a conversation and even to snipe defiantly at him – it was much better than he'd dared to hope.

"Draco, look at me," Severus demanded softly, knowing that their time would be up soon.

"F-fuck you."

Severus had never found himself so ecstatic about his godson's smart mouth, but this really wasn't the time. "Fine then, just listen. The Dark Lord is not my master –"

"Bullshit, y-you –"

"Listen, I said. I am a double agent for the Order of Phoenix – I am their only source of inside information regarding the plans and movements of the Dark Lord. I am given clearance by Albus Dumbledore to do whatever I deem necessary to protect my position on the Inner Circle, including participate in Dark Revels. I regret that you had to find out the way you did but I am still the Severus you knew," Severus explained quietly, hoping to regain the trust he lost.

Watching as heaving sobs began to shake Draco shoulders, he hoped the boy was beginning to believe him. "W-why didn't t-tell me it was l-like this?"

"There is nothing I regret more than inadvertently putting you in this situation, but I couldn't be sure of you loyalty – you always appeared…" Severus trailed off, unable to say it.

"L-like a murderous bastard? An idiot that would follow a half-dead Overlord with no m-morals?"

Severus closed his eyes, traitorous tears forming behind his lids. "I am so, so sorry, Dragon. I had no way of knowing."

"B-but I-I was! I w-was so s-s-stupid… its my fault… its my fault… she's dead… my fault…" Draco began to repeat the phrase over and over, gaining hysteria with each utterance.

Bending down and softly laying his hands on the boy's shaking shoulder Severus stated, "No Draco, no. It wasn't, it wasn't." This seemed to calm the boy marginally, so he began to speak once again. "It's hard not to lose yourself here, I know. But I need you to hold on –"

"I can't, I can't," Draco sobbed, his voice muffled from being curled into a ball.

"You can," Severus said calmly. "Slytherins never give up their will to live. You just have to hold on until we can come for you –"

All at once, Draco started violently, his head lifting from his knees for the first time since Severus had entered the cell.

"Come for me?" Draco asked desperately.

Frozen in shock, Severus was unable to answer for several moments as he stared into the blank grey eyes of his student. Draco was blind.

"S-Severus?"

"The Order is planning the siege at this very moment," Severus said, forcing his voice from shaking. How could he let this happen to the boy he considered to be his son?

Draco's unseeing eyes closed and a few tears escaped behind the closed lids. His fine-boned face was free of bruises, another oddity that couldn't be explained. "I – I –"

Heavy banging on the iron door interrupted whatever Draco was about to say. "Hey, Snape! Ya done with tha' traitor Malfoy?"

Grimacing as the uncultured grated on his nerves, Severus began to speak swiftly, "Draco, you mustn't reveal anything that I have told you, no matter the pain. They suspect nothing – keep it that way. Understand?" Relieved at Draco's frantic nodding, Severus stood.

"Now, pretend I have put you under several rounds of Crucio. Quickly!" Watching as his godson once again curled himself into a ball while shaking and whimpering softly, Severus thought Draco's imitation to be a bit to close for comfort.

Fixing the ever permanent scowl on his face, Severus made sure his robes were billowing behind him as he exited the cell before rounding on the incipient guard.

"You fool! Never interrupt me when I'm visiting a prisoner," Severus hissed in his best Death Eater voice, before putting the man under a rather severe Stinging Hex. While not packing nearly as much a punch as the Cruciatus, the Stinging Hex wrecked havoc on one's nerves and steadily increased the amount of pain the recipient experienced. Satisfied when the man began to scream in earnest, Severus took his leave, mind spinning with the revelations brought by the visit.

He just prayed that his godson wasn't cursed with permanent blindness.

TBC

* * *

Note:

(1) The River Styx – In Greek mythology, the river that separates Earth from the Underworld.


	6. Everything

**Author**: Angeleus

**Fandom**: Harry Potter

**Rating**: R (Adult)

**Genre**: Romance, Drama, Angst, H/C

**Pairing**: Harry/Draco

**Warnings**: Language, Anal, Explicit Torture, Disturbing imagery.

**Summary**: HD Dark Epic. 'A single tear found its way down his cheek, hidden by his death-mask.' In the summer before sixth year, Draco Malfoy attended a Dark Revel. It wasn't what he expected.

**Author's Note**: Hmm. With this chapter I definitely up the disturbing and creepy factor. There is no torture… well, not really. Poor Draco hasn't been through the worst of it yet, and this chapter kind of ends on a cliffe… I'm sorry, that wasn't my intention. It just happened to be the best place to end. -- No really. Well, I hope you all enjoy this chapter! And don't hit me

**Chapter Six**: Everything

Harry stared blankly at the royal blue curtains of his four poster bed, happy that he wouldn't be distracted by the sound of Ron's snores. Unlike last summer, the occupants of Number Twelve weren't crammed together in the select few rooms that had been fit for human habitation. Nearly all the rooms in Headquarters were cleaned to near unnatural pristineness. If that was even a word.

The slave driver often known as Molly Jane Weasley had been unconcerned with the teenagers' whines of potion burns and callous' on top of their callous, working them until Harry almost considered giving himself to Voldemort for a reprieve.

Almost. He wasn't that mental, but troll strength wall cleaning potion fumes did funny things to the brain.

Harry closed his eyes again, vainly hoping for sleep – but his eyes popped upon almost immediately; there was far too much to think about to entertain the idea of rest at the moment. The subject of the Order meeting was nearly at the top of the rather large list. The reigning champion that had taken hold of Harry's thought was currently unmentionable, however.

The recruit was a much safer topic. 'Recruit' wasn't even a word that Harry used, so saying it in his head was rather awkward, not that Harry had any choice in the matter. The person was mysteriously unnamed by Snape, which was slightly suspicious in itself, but that wasn't what caused Harry to loose sleep.

It was the actions of the Recruit-Who-Shall-Remain-Unnamed. Harry could tell Ron was impressed by Hermione's detailing of the near Death Eater's heroics, but Ron was far more impressed with the idea of defying Voldemort. While often accompanying Harry on his misadventures, Ron could not even comprehend the terror invoked by the Dark Lord, or the strength that it took to stand against such overpowering evil.

Harry snorted – even in his head that sounded dramatic, but little could describe how it felt to go up against Voldemort. One wasn't overcome with the desire to smite His Royal Repugnance – if you weren't scared shitless, you'd probably already been Crucio'd out of your mind.

When people heard of Harry's reluctant journey to The Graveyard (it would always be capitalized in his head) they were impressed by his 'bravery' and 'daring.' What most people don't know is that Harry hadn't been trying to play the dashing hero that day. Hell, he hadn't even been trying to survive.

No one, not even Ron and Hermione knew that Harry believed he would die that day. The only thing that kept Harry fighting had been that he didn't want to make things easy on the bastard. Voldemort had thought him little more than a bug that needed a good swat; Harry had been determined to be as much of an annoyance as possible, scratching and stinging before he went 'splat.'

That was what going against Voldemort was like – you didn't strive to win, or even live past the encounter. You knew death was the only outcome and that the only decision that you had to make was how you wanted to spend the last minute of your life: begging and screaming for mercy or defiantly resisting the inevitable.

There weren't many people who had survived such an encounter – the only person that came to Harry's mind was Dumbledore. But the man was so far removed from anyone he'd ever met, in actions, beliefs, sanity even, that it seemed unlikely that the Headmaster ever feared his former student. Harry often wondered what it felt like to be the one that _Voldemort_ feared.

It wasn't something that he could comprehend.

But this recruit – who Harry thought to be a male – was part of the same exclusive club. He defied the Dark Lord, he'd felt the same rush of emotions, the terror, anger. But this mystery man didn't seem to have Harry's rather freakish luck; he was in the bowels of Malfoy Manor, being inflicted with some of the most horrific punishments known to man for doing nothing more than attempting to save a dying girl.

It wasn't exactly what the man had done that held Harry in awe; it was the fact that he was aware of the consequences and still persevered. Betraying the Dark Lord, especially in such a spectacular manner, was a one-way ticket to agony, despair, and untimely death.

Knowing what Voldemort did to traitors, Harry had to admit he had a lot of grudging respect for Snape, as snarky and unpleasant as the man may be. Snape was another who could relate to him regarding Voldemort, but what he did was so different than open defiance and in many ways so much more horrifying. Harry could hardly imagine what it was like to pretend to be a monster…

But back to the recruit – Harry sincerely hoped that they would somehow do the impossible and actually rescue the man from Voldemort's strong hold. Harry almost felt eager to meet him, as if they would somehow be kindred spirits.

It was a rather odd feeling to have towards someone he had never met. Odd, and yet somewhat comforting to think that this man could understand all the things that Harry had never been able to talk about to his friends, things that couldn't be put into words – emotions one couldn't explain to those who hadn't felt them.

Then again, perhaps he was getting his hopes up. For all he knew, the recruit could be an even bigger prick then Snape.

But something, something indescribable told him this would not be the case.

Harry looked as his wristwatch, surprised when it informed him it was 3:12. He really should try to get some sleep, especially since he doubted he'd be getting much opportunity for it over the next couple of weeks.

Unfortunately, the unspoken topic that lay submerged in his thoughts was haunting his subconscious, making it damn near impossible to rest. And thinking of not thinking of it was only making it worse.

At first, it was only little things, incidents that he could pawn off as the result of boredom or curiosity. Denial had been a close friend, with his sensibilities subtly making excuses for his odd interests. Thoughts like, 'Seamus has such soft looking sandy hair' or 'Dean has such attractively smooth mocha colored skin and dark eyes' or even 'Merlin, Finch-Fletchley has a firm arse!' were often downplayed to the point that Harry nearly believed they had never crossed his mind.

It was blatant self-deception, but with the events leading up the whole Department of Mysteries debacle, Harry was able to ignore his odd preoccupations. After the incident, of course, Harry was too overcome with grief to even ponder why he suddenly noticed the way Ron's shoulders had broadened, or how Bill's long, lean frame looked in dragon hide. But now, with these thoughts accumulating, Harry had to finally sit up and take notice of what his subconscious was trying to tell him.

Harry sighed, backtracking to his only true relationship – if the disaster with Cho could be labeled as such. He remembered the excitement and nervousness the moment before he received his first kiss. The Gryffindor had expected something extraordinary, after hearing other boys talk about how it felt to have a soft, yielding mouth upon one's own. Perhaps he had expected too much, but Harry had felt uncommonly disappointed afterwards as he stared to Cho's dark, wet eyes and delicately pretty features.

Her shy, questing lips had lacked something, some unnamed quality that Harry couldn't account for. Later, when Ron had cornered Harry and demanded details, he could only use the adjective "wet" to describe it. Harry recalled the red-head looking at him with the strangest expression, his mouth slightly agape as if Harry was some undiscovered creature.

Harry understood why now. No normal boy who had just received his first kiss would describe it as "wet." Clenching his eyes such, Harry couldn't help but think what a bloody _idiot_ he was for saying something like that.

He was surprised Ron hadn't called him a queer right then and there.

There was really no reason to lie to himself. He – Harry James Potter – was not attracted to the fairer sex. Parvati's long, braided locks or Lavender's often exposed cleavage didn't do nearly as much for him as furtive glances at shirts stretched across defined pectoral muscles and abs did. He could appreciate beauty in the female form, but only in an objective sense, such as how one would admire the perfection of Grecian and Roman sculptures.

The beauty of the male form, however, Harry could more than appreciate. He could imagine touching soft skin covered in hard muscles, the feeling of a long lean body against his as he shuddered and reached completion – Fuck!

Harry moaned under his breath, pressing the heel of his hand against the hard mound of his cloth covered erection. Lately, since that he had begun to entertain the possibility that he might be gay, his libido had increase tenfold. The first time he decided forgo attempting to get off on the image of full breasts and instead focused on how another man's erected cock might look, Harry came almost untouched.

Deciding to ignore his more-often-there-than-not erection for the moment, Harry wondered how this sexual realization would affect his life. Surely no one would care that their savior pitched for the other team so long as he fought for the Light – but what about after the war (if he survived it)? Was there a place for homosexuals in the Wizarding World? Would he be discriminated against for his preference by those who he considered to be family? (1)

Of course, he knew that he would face no problems from Sirius or Remus, but their seemingly refusal to start a relationship also worried him.

Was their reluctance to start a relationship due purely to personal issues, or were they afraid of persecution? No one ever talked of homosexuality, leading Harry to believe that it was either accepted, or heavily disproved of – perhaps even illegal. He was scared to even ask what the general opinion was – scared because that would make it real, it would be as good as coming out.

It required courage that he just didn't have at the moment. No, for now, Harry would bide his time, try to be observant (for once in his life), and gather as much information as he could before revealing anything. Maybe, maybe he could even muck around in the Black library – that is, if he could avoid Hermione's questions about what he was researching.

Perhaps he could even ask her; but no, she was far too clever and would quickly figure out his motive. Hermione, though, was rather liberal in her thinking – Harry was almost positive that she wouldn't think of him any different… but one could never be sure.

Harry wondered, yet again, when he would get the guts to just outright ask Sirius what being gay meant in the Wizarding World. But he couldn't, he wasn't ready. He could barely admit to himself that he preferred men, much less imply it to someone else.

**xXxXxXx**

Draco awoke shivering, curled up in one of the corners of the cell. Sleeping in such a position was less than comfortable, especially when one was covered head to toe in cuts and bruises, but Draco quick found out that the less you left exposed, the less you would be hurt.

Well, unless you were tied to the wall – then all bets were off. But Draco certainly wasn't going to make it easy for the bastards. No, despite his seeming bouts of insanity, Draco still very much wanted to live.

Severus had been right; it was easy to loose oneself here. Draco could remember hours of staring at nothing, so far gone that curses garnered only the slightest of twitch, trapped in the prison of his own mind. Those had been the moments that Draco had truly given up – when his situation had seemed more than hopeless… but now, at least, Draco had reason to hope.

His foundations had been rocked to their very core once he realized that all he had ever believed in were nothing but the lies of a madman. Some things had shaken him more than others; for instance, Draco had already known that his father was a murderous bastard, so his actions That Night had not shocked him, but left him in a state of resigned horror. But when he had believed that Severus was the same, nothing more than a mindless follower, he had felt so alone and small – like nothing would ever matter again.

But one thirty minute visit with from the man who had betrayed his trust in so many ways was enough to infuse his weakened limbs with uncommon strength and determination. Draco wondered if he was naïve for believing his mentor and godfather – it was not at all impossible that this was merely a ploy to inflict further pain upon him. Logicality was much different, however, than what Draco's mind was operating on at the moment. He needed to believe, needed to hope… he needed Severus to be good.

So, he remained disgusting gullible and imagined what his escape might be liked. Draco refused to admit that there might not be an escape, that he might be dead far before the Order could come up with a damned plan.

Like he said, he needed to believe.

He needed a light in the darkness. This was figuratively speaking of course, for all Draco could see was Darkness with a capital D – hopefully something would fix that, Spell with a capital S.

The sound of his cell door opening wrenched him out of these soon to be ranting, repetitive, and reprehensibly insane thoughts. Wonderful, not only was it time for his bi-daily torture, but he was fucking alliterating in his head – a sure sign of non-sanity. Non-sanity? What the hell –

Oh… he could hear footsteps now. Odd footsteps, slow but not hesitant, slightly light but definitely a man. Draco could hear the sound of feet dragging slightly and suddenly he knew who his visitor was. Lord Voldemort. 'Wonder if I should be scared.'

Draco couldn't be bothered to even lift his head from his knees. Screw Voldemort, screw Lucius, screw the Death Eaters, screw elitism, screw bigotry, screw this fucking cell, and most of all screw Voldemort. Hey, wait – hadn't he already –

"Young Malfoy." It didn't really sound like a question, more of a statement really. Hissed out, almost. Draco wondered how many Dark experiments one had to do on oneself before every word sounded like a continuation of the same sibilant hiss.

"You fassscinate me." Was he supposed to respond to that?

"You do not fear me, blood traitor. I often grow tired of fear… it makesss people predictable. I hate predictable people, I usually kill them ssswiftly – those who anger me meet quick endsss asss well. You have angered me and yet I do not desssire your death. Ssso, I asssk you, little Malfoy, why are you not dead?" Voldemort was so close that Draco could feel cold breaths against his cheek; why was the Dark Lord kneeling next to him?

"B-because you h-haven't killed me yet," Draco mumbled against his knees, wondering for the first time if he was hallucinating. Why else would Voldemort ask such a stupid question?

"My little Dragon, what a masss of contradictionsss you are." A cold, long hand grasped his chin in an almost tender fashion; he was probably staring blankly into a pair of deep-set crimson eyes now. Wait, had the Dark Lord just called him 'little Dragon'?

It was then that he realized the Dark Lord was touching him. Draco squirmed, attempting to dislodge his face from the now harsh grip, but the deceptively brittle hands were quite strong. "Look at you… ssstill fighting ssso valiantly. And how dirty you've gotten sssince I've last seen you! But ssstill so pretty and pale… sssuch a pretty boy…"

Draco shook, bile rising in his throat as he continued to struggle; now the Dark Lord's other hand had begun to brush strands of his hair back from his face. Oh, Gods – why was this monster touching him? "L-let go," Draco rasped, "Don't t-touch m-me murderer!"

"And what are you," the Dark Lord replied softly, in direct contrast to his hand, which released its hold on Draco's chin only place a choking hold on the boy's neck. "Did you not kill that filthy little muggle girl? Isss her blood not ssstaining your handsss?"

Draco clenched his unseeing eyes shut, fighting the need to breathe. His weak hands scrabbled uselessly over the Dark Lord's, unable accept that he was going to die now. Not like this, no! Not as a murderer, he couldn't – he had to… had to wait…

One of Draco's hands dropped liked a lead weight to the floor; his other still scratching at Voldemort's ruthlessly clamped one. His legs began to kick out, finding nothing but air as he was lifted from the floor by the hand on his throat.

To wait…

Draco could feel his eyes rolling in the back of his head. No! He had to hold on, he had to wait for – for Severus… It was getting so dark, true darkness – an endless tunnel of no sound and still air, he was almost there… Almost gone…

He was unceremoniously dropped to the stone floor, already gasping in crucial air before he hit the ground. Oh, Gods, it hurt so much to breathe, but Draco could only suck in oxygen frantically, unable to stop – he was nearly hyperventilating now. Why had Voldemort let go?

"You were ssso pretty asss you neared Death, my little murderer. I sssaw you try to go into that eternal Dark – but not yet little one. You continually captivate my attention, you ssshall not leave until I sssay ssso."

Draco was still shaking on the floor, probably resembling a fish out of water when he felt himself being lifted into the air unaided – a wordless spell. "I grow tired of thisss cell. You ssshall be relocated to a far more interesssting part of the Manor."

Draco passed out. He must have, for when he awoke he found himself somewhere entirely different. The smells of mildew and decay no longer permeated through the area; rather, it smelt as if someone had tried to cover up the smell of dry rot with a jasmine-like scent. There was something soft beneath him; if he didn't know better he would think it was a bed. Draco's questing hand reached something with a silken texture, a… pillow?

Also, for the first time in ages it seemed, he felt no pain whatsoever. He had been healed. Hope burst through his chest, making his breath come out in a rush. Had the Order – Severus – come? Was he somehow – saved from the Dark Lord's clutches? Was he at their secret Headquarters? Draco turned his head slightly, almost immediately placing the feeling of a loose metal collar surrounding his neck. He slowly reached towards it, touching the cold metal and ghosting his hands over what felt like a chain.

Draco pulled experimentally on it; nothing gave. Dammit!

Unless the Order was into shackling those recovering from injuries, Draco didn't think he had been rescued. Then where was he? And what was going on?

"It isss good to sssee you awake. I thought you would dream forever, young Draco." A disturbingly familiar, cold hand passed over his face.

"You mussst be confusssed; I will eassse your curiosssity. I have brought you to my private quartersss… are you not honored?"

No, Draco was certain that he wasn't.

"What do you want from me," Draco gasped out desperately, scuttling away from Voldemort's touch only to encounter an obstacle – the manacle around his neck.

A dark chuckle sent shivers down his spin. "Everything, little one, everything."

TBC

Note:

(1) **Homosexuality in the Wizarding World** – Okay, here is the deal about my reasoning regarding gay relations in the Wizarding World. From reading the books, homosexuality is not even discussed, leaving one to interpret that either being gay is a non-issue, or a very big issue. I want to reassure readers; in this fanfiction, homosexuality will be very much the norm in the Wizarding World. However, Harry has no idea of this – he's going to sweat for a bit, lol. To me, this is not far-fetched, as the issue does not come up in the Harry Potter Series. Also, growing up in the Dursley household, I doubt that Harry would hear many positive things about homosexuals. I just wanted to clear up my reasoning in case some of you guys were a bit confused or worried.


	7. Seeing Beyond

**Author**: Angeleus

**Fandom**: Harry Potter

**Rating**: R (Adult)

**Genre**: Romance, Drama, Angst, H/C

**Pairing**: Harry/Draco

**Warnings**: Language, Anal, Explicit Torture, Disturbing imagery.

**Summary**: HD Dark Epic. 'A single tear found its way down his cheek, hidden by his death-mask.' In the summer before sixth year, Draco Malfoy attended a Dark Revel. It wasn't what he expected.

**Responding to Ohforf'**: I'm glad that you take joy in my demented imagery, lol. I like to write lighter scenes, but I love the challenge of writing 'disturbing pieces of art' as you put it. I hope you continue to enjoy the story, and more evilness is on its way! And also, thanks for pointing out my error - I corrected it.

**Responding to Dabber**: Voldemort is seriously twisted, who knows what he is going to do, hehe. I'm evil, I know. Don't worry, I don't plan on making Draco suffer forever.

**Author's Note**: Okay. So this is a first for me – I'm doing a P.O.V. for the Dark Lord… in a roundabout way. It's weird; I know that most people would write his thoughts as consistently chaotic because Voldie _is_ a homicidal maniac. I decided to go a different route – I envision the Dark Lord as somewhat analytical and introspective, given the schemes he has executed. I mean, the: re is a demented kind of genius about him. At least I think so, lol. Thanks for the feedback everyone, I really appreciate it!

Well, without further ado, Chapter Seven!

**Chapter Seven**: Seeing Beyond

Draco sighed as he once again tugged uselessly on the chain connected to his collar. _Collar_. What was he, a bloody kneazle? But, of course, it wouldn't do for him to be able to move when the Dark Lord wanted to molest him. A shudder that started in his hands traveled up and down the length of his body; he probably looked as if he was having a seizure. Granted, besides a couple of truly disturbing words and the occasional caress across his face or hair, he was left relatively unscathed by Voldemort.

The Dark Lord had repeatedly called him 'pretty' and gripped him harshly every time he attempted to resist the revolting touch. Eventually the monster left, probably off to watch the torture of some unsuspecting Muggles, but this left Draco far from reassured. After being left alone for a number of hours, he finally began to regain some of his Slytherin patented calm and tried to comprehend how his situation had changed.

He supposed he should feel grateful that he was no longer be relentlessly tortured, but at least then he knew what to expect. Wake up in discomforting pain, morning and afternoon evisceration, and go to sleep in agony. Draco should have been able to figure out that something was up because of this odd schedule – no matter how much pain he was in the night before, come morning he always felt much better. He was stupid to think it was simply the old wives tale that 'everything feels better in the morning.'

Someone, most likely a Death Eater lackey, seemed to have healed his most pressing injuries while he slept. This made sense considering the Dark Lord seemed to have some sort of sick fixation with him and was reluctant to have him killed off so soon. What was even more frightening was the fact that this obsession seemed fairly sexual in nature. When he thought of feeling faintly scaly and dry limbs against his own –

Draco couldn't take it anymore and began to gag, his body bent over the edge of the bed as he tried to expel the contents of his stomach via mouth. The collar was pulled tight against his neck as he spit out acidic bile, and Draco, clenching his fingers into the fine silk bed sheets, wondered how he had been reduced to this. The pet of a madman, one who wanted to posses him mind, body, and soul – wanting _everything_ that was his…

Draco, skin crawling, was finally able to get his desperate heaving under control and shook as he flopped back on the bed. He wanted nothing more to curl into as small ball and pretend that he was still in his cell – it was safer than he could ever be here – and sleep. But that was only wishful thinking considering the new situation; not only did the Dark Lord have some twisted desire for him, but his location would be detrimental to any rescue plan made by the Order.

Severus could have visited his cell and updated him, perhaps even informing him of the day on which the plan would be executed; in other words, he would be prepared. Now, there was virtually no way to communicate with his godfather; he doubted the man would even be told that he was no longer in the cell. Not only that, but Draco also had no idea how long Voldemort planned on keeping him alive.

Being the son of a prominent Death Eater, Draco had been privy to a number of 'interesting' facts regarding the Dark Lord. One that had always stuck in his mind was that after Voldemort decided to take a bedmate, the unfortunate victim expired after just one sexual encounter with the bastard.

Draco was unaware if this was because the man (if the Dark Lord could be referred to as such) was terribly brutal, or if something much more sinister was occurring – Gods only knew the Dark rituals used to make the man nearly immortal. What if he used the Darkest of sex magick to somehow harness the power of his victim's death? Even worse, Draco was a virgin. Virgins were especially prized in these sorts of rites; if the Dark Lord knew, then his life would be shortened even more.

No. No! He wouldn't die like this… Draco raised a shaking hand to his burning eyes, rubbing them harshly and refused to shed tears over the state of affairs. No one would be there to see them, not even him – they were useless, crying was a worthless action. He wasn't going to… a sob burst through his chest before he managed to get it under control.

Shaking with the effort of burying his emotions, Draco pulled himself into a sitting position. He couldn't sit here and wait for the Order to come up with some brilliant plan, especially since they didn't know the latest developments. He had to find his way out of here; he refused to die like this! Now, the first thing would be to look at the circumstances objectively.

He had been taken out of the lower levels of the Manor and put in what he believed to be the Dark Lord's private quarters (he figured the fiend hadn't lied about that). He couldn't explore his surroundings by touch because of the cold metal around his neck. However, due to the faint echo heard when Voldemort had spoken to him, Draco could guess that the room was fairly cavernous. Feeling alongside the wall, Draco was also able to feel that the walls were made of stone.

Due to the fact that the upper three levels had been overlaid with wood paneling several centuries ago, Draco thought it was safe to assume that he was in one of the lower two floors. Okay, that was something.

But attempting to navigate his way out of the Manor would prove impossible; not only was he literally chained to a bed, but even if he was able to leave the room, he would be unable to see where he was going. Death Eaters would find him comically fast, not to mention what Voldemort would do to him for trying to run.

Merlin, how was he going to do this?

But Severus told him to hold on, to wait… could he do that? He had to. There was no alternative, other than to give up hope and allow that monster to crush him – Draco revolted against the idea immediately.

No, he had to find a way to still be alive when Severus came for him. More lives would not be lost trying vainly to save his, but how could he possibly live past what the Dark Lord believed his expiration date to be?

Hmm.

Unless, of course…

A smirk slowly found its way onto Draco's face, one that had been unused for far too long. 'Yes, this will do,' Draco thought a plan already forming in his head. The Dark Lord found him attractive because he was fascinating. Well, Draco would just have to make sure Voldemort stayed enthralled…

**xXxXxXx**

There was darkness. A deep, encompassing fog that threatened to press him at all sides – there was no escape. He knew of nothing, no end or beginning, no sense of time or motion. He was being pulled farther and farther away from himself, unable to stop the flow of this unnatural river, and Harry dreamed.

_He walked, his tall, nearly skeletal frame seeming weightless. The dark cloak was soft and light against his cold, dry skin as Harry traveled down the stone corridor. The walls were framed with priceless items: jewel encrusted vases, ageless Grecian sculptures, and one-of-kind magical artifacts – but he paid these no mind, for his cargo was far more precious than any of the meaningless possessions. _

_Harry glanced to the side, studying the body hovering slightly to the left of his. Blonde hair reflected the dim light in the corridor, which framed beautiful features shaped from many centuries worth of careful breeding. Dirty, shapeless rags hid what he knew to be a lithe, surprisingly resilient body._

_Yes, he was satisfied with his little prize. _

_He felt a feral urge, an urge to break and crush and tame the teen – to possess that soft flesh. The boy intrigued him with uncaring attitude; he held back no words, seemingly not intimidated by Harry's power. At the same time, he was able to show surprising fear and frailty in certain circumstances; the boy gave nary a flinch towards killing his pureblood aunt, but was found hysterical over the body of that filthy muggle. _

_The boy was contradictory, paradoxical, puzzling. _

_He so enjoyed a good puzzle. _

_Harry also saw the great potential, potential that not even the boy's foolish father had seen. He wondered why his servants were unable to see the boy's Ability – but not even the boy knew of his Gift. But the signs were obvious – his body able to take so much punishment, repairing itself with an apparently inexhaustible amount of __Curatio (1)._

_His mind not breaking under nearly ten minutes of the Cruciatus. Being able to surpass three wards which prevented Apparation. Countless other unexplained occurrences. _

_Initially, Harry was enraged that Malfoy had wasted his time with a disgusting tainted little blood-traitor. Now he knew that his slippery follower had given him a true treasure – one that insured his victory over the impure. Yes, if only Lucius knew he had sired a gem worth more than the Malfoy fortune… _

_He watched the boy's lids flutter, opening to reveal blank, blind eyes. Perhaps if his little Dragon behaved himself, he would be rewarded with his vision. _

_But no, he was far too cunning to be given even that advantage. It wouldn't do for the blond to be able to plan an escape…_

_The boy's confusion and desperation sang to him; Harry reveled at the image the boy presented as he tugged on the chain confining him to the bed. _

"_It isss good to sssee you awake. I thought you would dream forever, young Draco."_

_Ah, the scent of fear was so enticing in the morning. _

**xXxXxXx**

Harry jerked awake with a cry, curling up as the throbbing pain from his head brought tears to his eyes. Waves of agony, originating from his curse scar, made him physically sick – he fought to keep down his dinner.

Harry struggled to stay still, knowing from experience that any unnecessary movements would cause even more torture. Finally, after several excruciating minutes, the 'headache' finally lessoned to a dull throbbing. Harry slowly uncurled from his tight ball, his mind spinning as he finally comprehended what he now knew.

What he had seen.

What he had felt.

He had been in Voldemort's twisted mind, the utter vileness of the Dark Lord's thoughts making him sick. Harry had a moment of perfect clarity, where he had known all of his enemy's plans down to the smallest of intricacies – but that moment had passed and he was only left with the barest of impressions.

Three things he knew for sure:

The Dark Lord was the most demented, twisted sick fuck that Harry had never wanted insight into.

The recruit had some kind of power that Voldemort believed would win the war.

The recruit was not some mysterious, unknown figure. It was Draco Malfoy, his one-time rival and he needed help. Now.

For a moment, his mind went blank with panic before he figured out what he needed to do – inform the Order.

Oh Gods, he had to tell the Order! Harry fell out of bed as he struggled to untangle himself with his bed sheets before he ran towards the door, stumbling as he clumsily opened it, frantic to tell the others what he knew. Gasping like a man starved for air, Harry vaulted himself down the hallway, intending to firecall Dumbledore. He was soon stopped when he ran into a rather solid shadow.

He nearly fell backwards before he regained his footing, peering at the blurry figure before cursing inwardly – how had he been stupid enough forget his glasses? But something was oddly familiar about the tall form.

"Potter." The name was growled out with an abhorrence that only one person could possibly manage.

Professor Snape.

"P-Professor," Harry choked out in relief. "I saw – there was, the Dark Lord is planning to hurt Malf –" (2) His words were quickly cut off as cold, long figured hand clamped over his mouth and the professor began to drag him backwards in the hallway.

Shocked into complacency for a moment, Harry began to resist quite ferociously but the thin man was almost frighteningly strong. He found himself being hauled back into his room, where Snape quickly let go of him before cast a silencing charm and ward around the room with lightning fast accuracy. Several candles flicked to life and he dove for his glasses on the dresser and snatched his wand from under his pillow, already aiming it at Snape before his spectacles sat on his face.

He couldn't believe the slimy bastard actually attacked him! What the hell was the man playing at?

Seemingly nonplussed by having his student's wand pointing him the face, Snape stepped forward.

"Stop! Don't come any closer – not until you explain what the hell is going on!"

Harry braced himself for an attack, but nearly dropped his wand in surprise when the man rolled his eyes and said, "Very well, Potter."

Feeling slightly emboldened and more than a little confused, Harry got ready to demand answers out of the Potion's Master. "What's going on? Why did you attack me?"

Once again the man rolled his eyes. "That, Potter, was not attack. Had I attacked you, you would be severely injured or dead, and since you're still annoying alive –"

"Stop," Harry gritted out between clinched teeth, "and tell me why you dragged me back to this room!"

The man stared at him coldly with his dark, fathomless eyes and Harry suddenly felt a trickle of fear crawl up his spine. He had not doubted Snape's loyalty in a long while, but the man's recent actions were more than a little suspicious. Harry swiftly put even more space between the man and himself, backing up until his back hit the wall.

"I was simply preventing you from making a rather grave mistake."

"And that would be," Harry nearly snarled out, not allowing the man to wiggle his way out of the question.

"Inadvertently causing the death of my godson," Snape replied and Harry was slightly surprised to see the man's face tense with something akin to pain.

Harry frowned heavily. "I have no idea what you are talking about. I don't even know who your godson is."

"Not even you can be this clueless," The man looked faintly disbelieving, making Harry's anger spike.

"I don't give a damn about your godson, I'm surely not going to kill anyone! You haven't made any sense –"

"Potter, you've consistently proved to me that the one thing you cannot do is listen, but I am asking you to do just that. Listen to me before you get someone killed, before I decided to simply Oblivate you and be done with it!"

Keeping his wand raised, Harry repeated, "What's going on?"

"I suggest you take a seat Potter, this may take a while."

Harry snorted. "I'll stand, thanks."

Snape shrugged apathetically and sat on Harry's bed. _Of all the conceited, infuriating…_

"From the way you scar stands livid on you skin and that you were tearing through the hall like a madman, I'm assuming that you've just had a vision. A rather disturbing one."

Harry's frown deepened. "Yes," He stated reluctantly.

"In this vision, no doubt, you have seen the Dark Lord torturing or otherwise harming my godson. The recruit. Draco Malfoy."

Oh. So that was who Snape was talking about. "How did you – It doesn't matter. You're still not making any sense. I wasn't trying to get Malfoy killed; I was trying to help him by informing the Order. You don't –"

"No," the man sneered. "You were about to get him killed."

After hearing this Harry exploded. "What the hell is your problem? Do you honestly think that I would purposely get Malfoy killed just because of some stupid childhood rivalry! Just because he acted like a prick doesn't mean he deserves to die! Do you think I'm capable of being so cold-blooded?"

The dark-haired man gave him a long, searching look before answering. "Quite the contrary, Potter. But your foolish attempt to help would have only signed his death warrant."

"So you keep saying, but I've yet to see any proof."

"Since I know of your dubious mental capabilities, I will be very frank. By now you already know the story of the recruit – and do not deny it for I know you and your nosy friends found some way to spy on the meeting – and of how the Order is planning to rescue him."

Harry saw no use in denying. "Yes."

"No one in that room knows that the recruit is Draco Malfoy. They must not know until the moment he is taken from Malfoy Manor because some in that room would not lift a finger to help him if they were to find out his identity."

"That isn't true," Harry denied immediately. "It wouldn't matter. No one would ca –"

"Oh, Potter. Would you take your oversized head out of your arse for one moment and see the world for what it truly is? Of course it would matter! The people in the Order, while fighting for all that is good and fair and righteous, have very limited views of right and wrong. There is no middle ground, no shade of gray, no such thing as a Death Eater turned spy or a pureblood child rejecting the principles that he was taught! I have served this Order for years, gathering priceless information at unbelievable risks and I am still treated with distrust – still labeled as a murderer. Even without knowing the name of the recruit, I still had to make a convincing argument as to why we should help him. Do you hear that Potter? I had to convince them to save someone who was being tortured for doing the right thing!"

"B-But Dumbledore –"

"As hard as this may be for you to believe, Albus Dumbledore is neither a God nor the second coming of Merlin. He is one man. He cannot change the minds of millions, nor can he sway those in the Order who are set in their ways. I refuse to risk Draco's life by hoping for the best in people. I already know that I would be disappointed. Besides, it only takes one person on a mission that doesn't believe in it to change an otherwise successful assignment into a failed disaster."

"I –" What could Harry possibly say – that Snape was completely and utterly wrong? That no one on the Light side was biased and prejudiced in any way? That there wasn't a chance that some members would want to let Malfoy rot in the Dark Lord's grasp? He couldn't, not when he knew how it felt to be feared and thought the worst of just because he spoke to snakes. Not when he saw his fellow Gryffindors automatically sneer at every Slytherin, even the first years.

It wasn't something he dwelled on often, preferring not to look at the ugly side of many of the people he counted as friends. But it couldn't be ignored now. Not when someone's life depended on it.

Did he trust all the Order of Phoenix members to still regard the recruit with the same sympathy and consideration once they knew it was Draco Malfoy? Would he be willing to risk Malfoy's life on optimism?

Harry already knew the answer.

Sighing heavily, he quietly murmured, "You're right."

"I didn't need you to tell me that. I'm well aware of the kind of people I have to deal with here; I don't need you counteracting all I have done to insure that Draco gets a fighting chance."

"So, what do we do?"

"'We' don't do anything. I allow the Order to plan without telling them the identity of the recruit and you keep your mouth shut." Snape scowled at him heavily, daring him to disagree.

Harry found himself nodding before his froze as he remember one little fact – the vision. "But Professor, you can't just leave him with Voldemort, not with what he is planning to do with Malfoy! You have to make them come up with a plan quicker!"

The man looked at him intensely and Harry swore he could see a spark of fear in his dark eyes. "I am well aware that my godson is being tortured within an inch of his life, but there is nothing I can do at the moment."

Harry shook his head in an agitated fashion. "No, you don't understand."

Snape's grim visage became even grimmer. "What did you see?"

"I was – I mean the Dark Lord was planning to…" Harry blushed furiously, trying to find the words for what he had felt in Voldemort's mind.

"Potter," the man breathed. "Just what are you saying?"

"Voldemort, he's o-obsessed. He thinks that Malfoy has some kind of powers that will help him win the war or something. And he –" Harry hesitated once more.

"He what, Potter," the pale man snapped out impatiently, but Harry could hear the almost frantic edge to his voice.

"He wants t-to touch Malfoy. Like… like…"

"Like what?" Snape nearly yelled out the last comment, obviously fearing for his godson's life.

Harry decided to be blunt. "He wants Malfoy in a sexual sense – and he's not above rape."

The silence in the room was deafening.

TBC

(1) Curatio – This literally means healing in Latin. In this story, it will refer to a specific kind of healing magic that will be explained later as the plot develops. I don't want to give too much away!

(2) Okay, this might not be something that anyone noticed, but Harry didn't call Draco by his given name. A lot of writers have them automatically calling each other Harry and Draco, but that just doesn't seem realistic to me. I know that Draco practically disowned himself from his family with his actions, but at this point Harry still thinks of him as Malfoy. It's really second nature, not something to read into at the moment. And this might have been a pointless note, but oh well.


	8. Coming Clean

**Author**: Angeleus

**Fandom**: Harry Potter

**Rating**: R (Adult)

**Genre**: Romance, Drama, Angst, H/C

**Pairing**: Harry/Draco

**Warnings**: Language, Anal, Explicit Torture, Disturbing imagery.

**Summary**: HD Dark Epic. 'A single tear found its way down his cheek, hidden by his death-mask.' In the summer before sixth year, Draco Malfoy attended a Dark Revel. It wasn't what he expected.

**Author's Note**: Gah! The one thing I'm starting to hate about this story is how slow going it is! I feel like it's taking forever for Draco to get rescued – but the plot is complex and I'm not going to screw up the story by rushing anything. I'm aiming to have Draco rescued before chapter twelve; I think that's a good goal. But I'm trying to update as quickly as possible, so maybe chapter twelve won't be that far off. Also in this chapter, a bit of Severus' past is revealed. My version doesn't follow the canon on a few points, but it doesn't stray _too_ far like some people have done.

Well, on to the next chapter!

**Chapter Eight**: Coming Clean

Draco fought not to tense when he heard the Dark Lord make his way to the bed. Instead, he let his body remain boneless and limp, feigning sleep. He made his continence stay as relaxed as possible, ready to perform the greatest act of his life. _Gods, please let this work._

For the past few hours, Draco had lain awake and perfected the minute details of how he would manipulate Voldemort – it left him sickened. But Draco was nothing if not a true Slytherin and the end justified the means; if he played this right, he would lengthen his life – hopefully long enough for the Order to break him out of this prison.

Yes, and if he kept telling himself that he wouldn't feel like such a disgusting whore. The bed dipped slightly, signaling that the Dark Lord had finally reached him – a long-fingered hand stroked his cheek in an almost tender fashion. Draco wanted to bite those fingers off. Pretending to give a small sigh of contentment, the blonde moved slightly into the touch, still simulating slumber. His stomach rolled and he hoped that the nausea didn't show on his face.

Voldemort made a pleased sound in the back of his throat, and Draco wondered what he would see in that monstrous face if he wasn't blind. Would he see satisfaction, amusement, lust? Well, he hoped the bastard ate it up, because once he was out of here Draco would find a way to end him.

The hand traveled further down, to lightly stroke his collarbone from where it was peaking behind ill fitting rags. He wanted to yell and scream for Voldemort to stop touching him but fought relentlessly against the impulse. Instead he let out a small moan, pretending to fight his way out of slumber.

"Wake up, little one." The hand was back at his face, tracing his slightly open lips slowly. "Time to face me, no more ideal dreamsss." Draco noticed that the voice, while soft, held an unmistakable possessive quality.

Draco stiffened and pretended to start with fright, curling up and opening his blank eyes reflexively. He swore he heard a hiss of satisfaction, then he felt the pressure of the Dark Lord's hand on his hair, the spidery fingers combing slowly through the flaxen strands – it took all he had in him to not move away from the touch. He was almost shaking with the effort, but he prayed Voldemort wouldn't notice.

"You no longer move from my caresss, why? What game are you playing, little Dragon? I hear your heart beating fassst under your ssskin." _Crap, crap… he can here my heartbeat,_ Draco thought frantically – that hadn't been expected.

Well, this was as good a time as ever.

"I've realized that I have little control over what happens to me now – that is up to you, Lord. I've been beaten, cut, burned, curse, tortured beyond my imagination…" Draco paused for a moment, then began to speak once more. "I belong to the same house as the one you descended from, and like any true Slytherin I just want to live. I'll fight against you no longer, defiance has only brought me pain – do with me as you will." Draco attempted to project fear, boldness, and a small bit of confidence in his statement – this combination would seem likely to the Dark Lord and make Draco's deception easier to believe.

"And you presssume to give me permission; I, Lord Voldemort? You are most curiousss – and most foolish youngling." The Dark Lord's voice sounded both amused and incredulous, but Draco could also sense a bit of curiosity in the bastard's voice. Good. So long as he could keep Voldemort interested, things were going well.

"I am not giving you permission, Lord. I am simply declaring that you need not expect insolence on my part any longer; if you kill me, so be it. If you have some other purpose for me other than death, I will comply." _Comply until I find a way to kill you, you bloody prick._

Voldemort was still stroking his pale hair, and Draco had the sudden feeling that if he were able to see, it would be much harder to carry out this plan. It was the first time Draco felt thankful of his blindness – he couldn't imagine looking into those terrifying crimson eyes and saying these things.

"You call me Lord." The words somehow sounded ominous and for a moment, Draco was robbed of speech as he frantically tried to think of a response.

"I – Are you not a Lord," Draco asked calmly, his voice doing nothing to show how his heart was racing. No doubt Voldemort could hear it.

Yet again he heard the dark chuckle and Draco knew trouble was coming. "Yesss, I am. I am the Lord of the Darknesss, one who travelsss the Ssshadowed Roadsss, descendant from the Great One that tamed the Chaosss, who ssshall be Ruler of all Wizardom." (1) This statement was followed with a long, nearly inaudible hiss – and Draco was once again scrambling for something to say. But what does one say to the delusional nonsense of the most powerful Dark wizard in Europe?

"I – yes." That apparently.

Suddenly the light, fleeting touch on his hair became an iron grip, nearly ripping chunks of pale locks out of his scalp. Draco clenched his teeth against the pain, hearing the near rasping of the Dark Lord above him and once again questioned his sanity in attempting this trickery.

"I am your Lord!" The words were nearly growled out, and the hand in his hair tightened, whipping his head closer towards Voldemort. Another hand gripped his right arm harshly, yanking it behind his back and nearly dislocating his shoulder. Funny how physical the Dark Lord tended to get with him. In the excruciatingly painful way.

"Yes," Draco panted slightly, refusing to show how much pain he was in. He allowed his body to remain pliant, knowing that any resistance would be interpreted as defiance – that would only send Voldemort into a frenzy.

"SAY IT!" His head was pulled further and the collar began to cut into the tender skin of throat, nearly choking him.

"Y-You are my Lord – _my_ Lord," Draco gasped out reverently, hoping that would placate the Dark Lord enough to let him breathe. He shuddered in relief when he was suddenly released and the pressure on his neck was relieved – he was starting to wonder if the wizard didn't have some sort of asphyxiation fetish. Draco certain wasn't fond of it.

As if he hadn't just been bellowing with some maniacal strength, Voldemort began to pet his hair again and purred, "Good, good. You are finally understanding, Dragon – I am most relieved. I would have hated to break you… but you do bleed ssso prettily."

And if that wasn't the single more disturbing think Draco had ever heard. Hopefully he would be out of here before the Dark Lord decided he wanted to see Draco bleed – he was rather attached to his blood staying _in_ his body. He realized that Voldemort was no longer speaking, just touching his hair, and the relief he felt was indescribable.

He couldn't believe he had actually gotten away with this. When Draco first developed this plan, he was sure it would take days, even weeks to get the Dark Lord to trust him – he was prepared to deal with the same agonizing pain that he'd felt in that hell hole of a cell. But the fact that he'd actually gotten the wizard to consider him as compliant was more than he could ever hope – he might just be able to get out of here alive. If he could continue to play this game, that is.

But Draco was confident in his ability to deceive now – and so long as he kept Voldemort intrigued by him (which shouldn't be a problem, as the freak seemed to have an unhealthy obsession with his hair), Draco wouldn't have to worry about death. Although rape seemed to loom imminently in the future, he thought that was far off as well.

The Dark Lord seemed to be anticipating having him that way, and yet he hadn't acted on his desires thus far. Perhaps whatever was keeping him from taking Draco would continue to do so – at least a long as it would take for Severus and the Order to come for him.

Yes, Draco thought he could hold out until then. These psychotic Dark Lord types were so easy to predict, after all.

**xXxXxXx**

Severus had long since resolved to not think about it – the way he had screamed and raged, nearly destroying his home had been most undignified. How he'd collapsed on himself and began to sob hysterically had been even worse; he was only grateful that he'd waited until leaving Grimmauld Place before breaking down in such a despicable manner.

What Draco was being subjected to – it was beyond monstrous. When Potter haltingly begun to explain his vision, Severus had remained in a stunned stupor, his mind unable to comprehend the demented tale Potter was weaving. And although he knew that it was unlikely the teen could fabricate such a story, Severus had still demanded entry into Potter's mind to see the memory for himself.

Of course the brat had refused at first, but something in his face must have convinced Potter – he could only imagine how he had looked. For the first time in years his carefully contrived masked had slipped, and he was only a man who'd just found out that unspeakable things might be happening to the boy that was his son in everything but blood.

It had taken hours before he could look at what he'd seen logically (he'd put the memory into his pensive and viewed it numerous times.) Perhaps what was so startling about the vision was that he was actually hearing the Dark Lord's thoughts, and feeling the wizard's emotions – he grudgingly found himself thanking Potter. If it weren't for the boy's odd connection to Lord Voldemort, it was doubtful that he would have ever found out about this new development, or have insight into what the wizard was thinking.

Severus had left Potter with a dreamless sleep potion, and a promise to keep him updated on the effort to save Draco.

Yes, that had surprised even him.

Contrary to popular belief, he did not see James Potter when he looked at Harry Potter – but they all had a role to play in this game with the Dark Lord. His just happened to be that of a bad-tempered spy. He didn't necessarily hate the boy, but he did despise the company the boy kept: Weasley was a lumbering fool and Granger thought she knew more about the Art of Potions than _him_.

But truly, it would be dangerous for the boy to harbor any other feelings besides dislike for him as Potter was terrible at Occulumency and he didn't want his cover blown. He liked his head attached to his shoulders, thank you very much. Severus wasn't saying that he was dying to start handing the boy chocolate frogs and flowery words – he wasn't a nice man, but he was far from evil.

And Potter was proving to be less and less like James Potter and his dogfather every day.

He was reluctant to admit such things, but Potter seemed far more aware than his blockheaded father – the boy saw not only black and white, but shades of grey as well. And even more shocking, he seemed genuinely concerned about Draco's wellbeing; of course he was still disgustingly Gryffindor, but he was closer to Albus then he was to Weasley. He believed that 'innocent until proven guilty' nonsense and truly looked for good in everyone.

Severus could make use of this naïveté, however. If things turned out badly and certain Order members found out that the recruit was indeed Draco Malfoy, Potter may be the only thing standing between his godson and certain death. Potter, while not officially part of the Order, held plenty of sway over its members – he was their Boy Wonder after all. Potter could bat his big green eyes at them and lay on a guilt trip bigger than the Atlantic Ocean – something he learned from Albus, no doubt.

But he had more important things to think of at the moment.

After analyzing the memory, Severus found out that things were both better and worse than he thought. Knowing that Voldemort desired Draco in any fashion was beyond ghastly; every Death Eater knew what happened to any of the Dark Lord's 'playmates.' After just one day spent in the wizard's company, a Death Eater was summoned to remove the body of the unfortunately soul – the victims were always dead or near death.

Even Death Eaters dreaded being called to the Dark Lord's bed – in fact, many of Voldemort's lower level servants wore glamours to make themselves and family members unattractive, as they were the most expendable. Voldemort wasn't particularly amorous, but he was far from celibate – he had a predilection for smooth-cheeked and slender men with small features, the younger the better. Draco fit this description perfectly, but the Potion's Master had never known the Dark Lord to take any interest in a traitor beyond desiring their death.

Severus himself wore an all encompassing altering charm; without it he would have been singled out by the Dark Lord for his looks long ago. His mother, who had been a devout follower of Voldemort, soon discovered his tastes and forced her then twelve-year-old son to disguise his looks. His mother had been far from maternal, but she didn't want her only son to be viciously raped and killed – someone needed to uphold the family name, after all.

Neither his mother nor father would have won any beauty contests with their hard beady eyes, odd (and in his father's case large) noses, and sallow skin; Severus' looks were an anomaly of genetics. (2)

His skin was an ivory tone, his body long and leanly muscled, and his features almost elfin – no large hooked nose took up the majority of his face, as the male Snapes were known for. His hair, while inky black, had never been greasy and instead fell in thick waves. His eyes were just as dark as his parents', but were larger with an almost liquid quality to them. With the glamour, however, he was nearly his father's twin, with yellow unhealthy skin and that hideous nose.

He transformed into the epitome of unpleasant to look at.

The Marauders, unobservant as they were, didn't seem to notice that their classmate changed so drastically over the summer before Second Year, seemingly believing that he'd always been so ugly.

Honestly, it didn't bother him that his supposed attractiveness was hidden; he was able to be an effective spy and that was all that mattered. Never mind the fact that the Dark Lord wouldn't dare to seek after him now even if he pranced around the throne room naked – he was highly prized for his position as spy.

No, this undesirable façade made it easier for him to maintain his mask in company of both enemies and allies. In fact, Severus had grown almost fond of the unappealing glamour – at least he didn't have some love struck fool running after him because of his looks, interfering with his already complicated life.

But Severus felt almost personally responsible for Draco's position; he had pushed Lucius to put Draco under a mild glamour after the rise of the Dark Lord, but his blond 'colleague' had been far too proud to do such a thing. His exact words had been, "The Malfoys have always been highly valued weapons for Our Lord, and he would not use my son simply for pleasure. If your mother had not been so incompetent at her tasks, perhaps you would not have been forced to hide yourself in such a despicable manner." After this, Lucius made some remarks about how he would be "safe" in removing the glamour and tried to proposition him as he often did. Severus replied scathingly by stating that Lucius did have a wife, woefully inadequate as she may be.

That day weighed heavily on his mind now. Instead of forcing the issue and perhaps saving Draco from his current fate, he had allowed himself to be distracted by trading barbs with Lucius. If only that conversation had gone differently, perhaps…

At the same time, he knew this odd lure Voldemort felt towards Draco had kept him alive this far; the mystery of why Draco had been healed and cleaned was now understood. He wished that his godson had never been put in this situation, but he was grateful the boy was still alive. He also had reason to believe that Draco would be kept alive for longer still – hopefully long enough to be rescued.

The Dark Lord believed Draco to have some special powers – whether this was true or not was debatable. Even in his most sane years, Lord Voldemort was known for chasing after the most ridiculous of mythical weapons and the Death Eaters would loyally run around the world on these wild goose chases. The dark wizard was always looking for some kind of edge over the Light, something that would ensure his victory over Albus Dumbledore.

Now, Voldemort thought this came in the form of his godson. So long as the Dark Lord deluded himself, Draco was relatively secure, dare he say. His life was probably in the least danger it had been in since the beginning of his captivity – it was quite ironic that Voldemort was the source of this 'safety.' This was not to say that what Draco suffered at the hands of the Dark Lord would not make death look like a happier alternative, but Severus prayed that it would not come to that.

The biggest dilemma to be overcome now was how they could possible retrieve Draco from the Dark Lord's private quarters. It was hard enough to come up with a plan to infiltrate the dungeons, but this would prove impossible.

Unless.

Unless he came clean to Albus.

There was no hope of any successful liberation if Albus did not know of this knew development – he was the only one that could possibly pull this off. There was not one day to waste, especially with the situation his godson now found himself in; Albus was the only one who could magically hold his own against Voldemort. And it wasn't that he didn't trust his mentor, it was the man's inherent trust in humanity that Severus feared. All of this would be for naught if Albus simply did what he'd stopped Potter from doing.

Well.

That just wouldn't do at all.

**xXxXxXx**

Albus stared down at him through the half-moon spectacles, his twinkling blue eyes contemplative as he finished listening to Severus' account. He hadn't seemed surprised when Severus announced that the recruit was indeed Draco, just raising an eyebrow, but once the dark-haired man related the newest development, the wizard quickly paled with horror.

If the situation hadn't been so dire, Severus would have been quite amused to finally shock the Headmaster. Waiting for Dumbledore to respond was more than nerve racking; the last things he wanted was to hear was that the man was disappointed in him. His decision may not have been without fault, but he acted only out the desire to save his godson's life. Sitting in the comfortable armchair across from his mentor, he once again felt like some misbehaving child who had finally confessed to some little misdemeanor – he wished he knew how the old man was able to do that. He resisted the urge to brush his hair from his eyes or make some other nervous gesture.

"This is very serious, my boy." The man was still staring at him in a mildly disapproving fashion, but the lingering concern and calculation in those blue eyes showed the man was thinking of something other than Severus' schemes.

A ghost of his usual sneer appeared on Severus' face as he stated, "I'm aware of that."

"You should have told me." Now Albus looked sorrowful and slightly hurt, and he resisted the urge to scream – it wasn't that he didn't trust the man who was more like a father than his own had ever been. Honestly, he trusted Albus more than most; it was the other Order members he had little faith in.

"Perhaps – I should have," Severus conceded slowly, nearly dragging the words out of his throat, "But it would have made no difference up to this point; I had not found out the extent of the Dark Lord's interest with Draco until early this morning."

"From young Harry?"

"Yes."

"His strengthening connection to the Dark Lord is becoming more worrisome as time goes on. Extensive exposure to Tom's mind – especially his thoughts and beliefs – could have a very negative affect on Harry's psyche. But there will be more time to think on that later. We need to focus on the more pressing issue of Draco's perilous location.

I have a… suggestion regarding his rescue – one that I think will prove to be a better alternative then rushing in with all of our forces. It would require a select few to know the truth while keeping the rest of the Order in the dark, so to speak. I would allow you to choose who you think would be best for this team – I trust you to choose wisely, Severus. The mission will be a great danger to those who participate, but I believe it has a high chance of success. But this all depends on you, my boy, and what you will be willing to do to save young Draco." Was it just him or was the man's eyes sparkling with good humor once more? Just what was Albus playing at _now_?

Severus resisted the urge to rub his head at the feeling of an oncoming migraine.

"You are aware that I will do anything and everything possible to insure my godson's safe return. Tell me what your plan is and I'll judge whether I can complete it solitarily. I don't think any others should know – Potter being aware is bad enough," Severus grimaced and waited for the silver-bearded man to inform him of this quickly contrived idea.

"There is no doubt that you _will _need others to complete his mission – don't be needlessly proud Severus. Everyone needs help at some point, and Draco needs all the resources available to us." Severus scowled but nodded in agreement. "As for the plan itself and your role in it; I believe you well know what I will ask of you."

Albus leaned over his folded hands and gave him a _look_. For a moment he was horribly confused, but then his suddenly understood what the old man was hinting at. _Of course, he was always pushing the bloody issue…_

"No." The answer was flat and unemotional, but a frightening anger was shone on his face.

Albus appeared to be blissfully unaware of the coming storm, merely smiling gently at his surrogate son. "There is no other way."

"I will find one." If his face got any stonier, it would be carved at out of granite. But Albus, the meddling _fool_, was completely unaffected by the display – damn him!

"You would waste needless time while the boy suffers in Voldemort's bedchambers?" Severus nearly flinched at the words. Bloody hell, but the man knew how to hit where it hurt!

"I can't," Severus nearly bellowed out in exasperation. "What you ask of me will have ramifications –"

"I am fully prepared to deal with any consequences that may arise; I always have been," The man then smiled gently. "Don't you think it's time, Severus?"

Their gazes locked for several long moments, Severus' filled with anger, frustration and guilt while Albus' reflected compassion, understanding and empathy. Severus broke the contact a moment later, cursing, but knowing that the man was right (funny how he always seemed to be).

"Fine," He bit out, nearly choking on the word.

Albus' smile could have powered several small muggle machines.

**TBC**

**(1) **All of that was basically Voldemort's flowery and overbearing way of saying that he was Slytherin's heir and that he was extremely powerful.

**(2) **I just wanted to point out that while normal wizards and witches might not know about muggle genetics, Severus would, considering that his father was a muggle. Even if he was a pureblood, I could imagine him learning such things because it is Severus, after all!


	9. The Library of Mysteries

**Author**: Angeleus

**Fandom**: Harry Potter

**Rating**: R (Adult)

**Genre**: Romance, Drama, Angst, H/C

**Pairing**: Harry/Draco

**Warnings**: Language, Anal, Explicit Torture, Disturbing imagery

**Summary**: When Draco disobeys everything he's learned in a single action, he is made a prisoner in his own home. Can Harry and Severus save him, or will he be destroyed by an obsessive Dark Lord's plans? Can bonds of love and friendship triumph over ultimate evil?

**Author's Note**: I want to say sorry for the long wait, but I had terrible writer's block for the chapter – it's not my best, but I hope it isn't too horrible. Finally, things get moving in this chapter; I'm apologizing in advance for the lack of Draco. Also, I intend to have more Sirius and Remus in the next chapter; I think we should see how that budding relationship is going! ; ) I'm really happy, because last chapter I got the most feedback I've gotten from a chapter on since the first chapter. I'm really glad that everyone seems to like the story, and I'm also very grateful for the constructive criticism that I've gotten. I really want to make this fanfiction the best I can possibly make it!

Most of you will be pleased to know that I have A BETA! She is amazing at correcting my silly mistakes. **Thanks Vittani!**

**Also**: **FOR ALL READERS** – if you want me to add you to my update list, just leave your email address behind in a review. I'll be happy to inform you when I update my story.

**Chapter Nine**: The Library of Mysteries

It was odd to see the barely concealed anguish in Snape's face. Two hours ago he would have been the first to say that the Potion's Master could express no emotions but distain and a vague hatred for all living creatures. Harry had stuttered his way through the description of his vision and slowly watched the normally taciturn man change colors, begin to tremble, and finally demand to see the memory for himself.

Harry had refused – he remembered what it had been like to have Snape in his head, finding his most embarrassing memories and taunting him with it. To willingly allow that man into his memories wasn't something Harry saw himself doing within the next century!

But something in Snape's face, perhaps the desperation and pain over the man's pinched features, made him reluctantly agree. More likely, it had nothing really to do with Snape and more to do with his one-time rival. Malfoy had found himself in a mess bigger than anything even Harry had dealt with and he didn't want to unwittingly be responsible for withholding something that could help the other boy.

He'd never really liked Malfoy – he despised the little prick and his attempts to get the DA in trouble this past year – but he didn't want the blond truly hurt. Harry had always had little fantasies and daydreams about humiliating his enemy, making Malfoy flush with anger and shame, of punching him in his little pureblood nose. But even he would not have wished such a terrible fate on the Slytherin.

Harry thought back to the connection he'd felt with the unnamed recruit and realized that those feelings hadn't disappeared regardless of what he may have felt for Malfoy in the past. Now, he was far from calling Malfoy his friend (Harry wasn't sure they would ever be that) but he found that he respected the other boy. The fact that he hadn't cracked completely yet was beyond admirable, especially considering Voldemort's repulsive desire – Harry quickly leapt from that train of thought, not wanting to dwell on the sickening obsession he'd felt in the Dark Lord's mind.

Snape had long since left, promising to keep him updated on Malfoy's situation – after sternly 'reminding' Harry to keep all he knew quiet. He'd went to bed not long after that, tossed and turned and tangled himself in the covers before giving up on sleeping altogether. Harry had paced, bit all his nails ragged, and eventually went to lie on the bed once more.

More than anything, Harry hated to be useless, and that's exactly how he felt.

Now he restlessly watched the sky slowly lighten, the shades of orange and pink framing the rising sun in the heavens. Every time he closed his eyes, the memory played behind his lids like some twisted muggle movie. Just remembering the things that he, as Voldemort, had wanted to do to Malfoy left him feeling weak and disgusted with himself.

Logically, he knew that those emotions had not been his own, and blaming himself for experiencing them during a vision was foolish. But he couldn't really help it – it was like when Mr. Weasley was attacked by Nagini. Harry had wanted the man dead; it had been his body striking with deadly efficiency and his mouth that the man's blood had rushed into.

He'd felt satisfaction that Ron's dad was dying by his fangs, that the man's life was seeping out with every bite. He hadn't merely been a bystander; Harry had been the snake just as he had been Voldemort.

He didn't know how this sort of possession or reverse Legilimency worked, but it always left him profoundly disturbed afterwards. And trying to explain it was damn near impossible; when he'd told Ron the details of that vision, the red-head simply shrugged and said, "But it wasn't you mate." Harry couldn't make his friend understand that while he had not attacked Mr. Weasley, it had felt like he had. Feeling that kind of hatred and the rush of a new kill was indescribably disconcerting.

Now he had even more do keep from his friends; telling them now would benefit no one. Hermione would immediately demand that he and Snape come clean to the Order; she was far too naïve at times.

Coming from Harry, that was nearly an insult.

With Ron… Harry sighed slightly. Ron would, no doubt, react in the exact way that Snape had feared the Order members would. Upon hearing who the recruit was, Ron would start to exclaim that it was a trap, Malfoy was evil (of course), and refuse to see reason until much later. Harry had faith that Ron would be brought around eventually, but Harry didn't have the time to argue with his sometimes bull-headed friend.

But Harry couldn't just sit on his hands, waiting for news from Snape (who may or may not go back on his promise). No, he had to make himself useful now that he knew more than the Order members did. He had to somehow aid the rescue effort and get Malfoy out of there; but how would he go about doing that?

Usually, when faced with a problem, Harry would immediately inform Ron and Hermione before taking a trip to the Hogwarts library. Once there, Harry and Ron would alternate between flipping through books and goofing off while Hermione got the actual research done. If either of the two boys stumbled across something, it was almost always an act of luck or divine intervention. Sighing in a resigned manner, he realized that he would have to rely on more than Hermione and the gods now.

Harry glanced at the window, noticing that the sun had rose fully, casting new shadows on his walls. Knowing that there was no time like the present, he began to get ready for the day. It was so early that he would have the library to himself without having to answer any strange questions.

Pulling a beige hoody over his head and slipping into his jeans, Harry noted that he looked rather pale and sported deep circles under his eyes. His nearly chin length ebony locks hung around his face in even greater disarray than normal and there was a certain tightness around his mouth that hinted at hidden pain or aggravation. In laymen's terms, he looked exhausted.

Funny, that. Harry felt quite awake.

Resigned to the fact that he looked like death warmed over, Harry walked out of his room and through the halls of Grimmauld Place. At this time, the place was quiet and had an almost deserted quality – it was odd to think that it was usually filled with bustling activity. He was grateful that he didn't run into anyone.

Harry was notoriously bad at lying, and didn't feel like coming up with something to explain what he was doing.

Finally reaching the library, he stared around a moment in confusion.

Never really stepping foot inside the library, Harry had little idea about its layout. Now he realized it was unlike any library he had ever seen.

Instead of being contained in one large room, as it was in Hogwarts, the Black Library was composed of several small rooms with connecting doorways. Oddly enough, merely the frame of the doorway remained; there were no doors blocking entrance into any of the other rooms. Harry looked out of the nearest doorway and almost felt dizzy with the seemingly endless amount of empty doorways in his vision. Shaking his head slightly, Harry began to survey the room he occupied.

There were only a couple of chairs in the room Harry was occupying, and Harry picked up a book leaning on an arm of the worn armchair. The fading letters on the spine said the title was _Dark Manifestations of Nature and their Composition_. Inspecting a few books on the shelves, Harry realized that this particular room dealt with Herbology, although the subject matter seemed to be much darker than anything that was taught in Hogwarts.

Systematically going through the rooms, he surveyed the type of books within them. After several minutes, Harry began to have the first stirrings of frustration – none of these books seemed remotely useful to his situation. Hell, some of the books were in languages he couldn't even identify!

He'd run across more tombs on pureblood genealogy and culture then he could count, as well as numerous potions, transfiguration, and charms guidebooks. But more than any other, there were leather-bound books of various sizes with no words on the covers. Some of them seemed harmless and were merely journals of Sirius' descendants, but others practically screamed of some unknown danger. A sixth sense warned Harry against touching most of them, and he saw no need to go against it.

He'd figured out that each room was devoted to a particular subject, but the amount of rooms seemed endless – Harry swore he'd been through at least ten of them.

He felt as if he was wondering aimlessly through the rooms like a fool. He wasn't even sure what he was looking for other than he would know when he found it. Harry snorted slightly; that hardly made sense in his head. Picking up a rather large book and flipping through the pages, Harry was disgusted to see it was about Witch etiquette of all things.

He gave up on the current room with a disgruntled expression and walked towards the next room – huh? It took him a moment to realize that a door was blocking his way; it was rather nondescript and plain, with a faded brass doorknob that was dinted slightly on the left side. Harry gripped the damaged knob lightly and turned; the door remained closed. Why was this particular room locked while the others were not? Was it something dangerous? A worried frown graced his face.

Perhaps it would be best to let it be – this had been the home to Dark wizards for generations and the efforts of the Order surely hadn't cleared out all of the malevolent magical artifacts. The other rooms probably had something useful that he'd overlooked somehow. Yes, it would be best to leave the locked room be.

Harry had nearly left the room when a small 'click' disrupted the quiet. Turning back slowly, he saw that he door which refused to budge was now slightly ajar. Hardly thinking about what he was doing, Harry walked back the door and peered inside the revealed room.

It was the same and yet different from the others. It was small, smaller than any of the previous rooms, but nearly identical otherwise. There were two large armchairs with a small table in-between them and all four walls were covered in rows of books from the ceiling to the carpeted floor.

The books, however, were what made this room unique. Each was exactly the same as the one next to it – they were all thin and bound with worn red leather. At first glance, it would seem to be a massively extensive collection of some sort of encyclopaedias, but the sheer number of volumes seemed to be impossible.

They were nondescript, but unlike the other books they seemed to hum with a non-threatening power that told Harry they weren't dangerous. He walked to the shelves, hand reaching to retrieve one of those books. A moment before reaching them, he paused.

Something about this seemed odd. Harry began to put his hand down, only to discover with alarm that he was unable to. His palm began to itch slightly, the unnatural desire to hold one of the slender volumes stirring in his chest.

No! This was just like the Imperious Curse, and Harry could beat it just as well. At that moment, the itching became a furious burning sensation and his hand inched closer to the shelf. His heart began to pound, and the overwhelming urge to pick up the book became overpowering. It wasn't just a physical sensation, it was mental as well. Harry's mind was screaming, telling him to read the book, promising unspoken horrors if he refused to.

He was strong. All he had to do was step away… just a few feet away and he would be out of the room. It was easy. He could do this.

Not deterred by Harry's thoughts of rebellion, his hand unerringly ran a single fingertip down the worn bindings of the book.

A sound louder than anything Harry had ever heard before vibrated through his skull and he felt himself stumbling, the faraway feeling of something solid in his hand before he was falling, falling, falling and everything went black.

When Harry was aware of himself again, he was sitting in one of those comfortable armchairs, his hands on either side of the book. It was open to a blank page. Something told him to _turn the page_.

Still in the grips of magical compulsion, he did.

In the middle of the next page, a single word was written. _Grimoyre_. He turned the page once more, absently noticing that paper was warm to the touch. Odd. This page was empty as well, not even as single word marring the – wait.

There was a date in the top left corner. 20 July 1996. Today's date. And suddenly, there were carefully scripted words below the date – entire paragraphs, actually. That fact that words had appeared on the page should have disturbed Harry more, considering what happened last time he found a book that had a mind of its own, but Harry was oddly… unworried. His hands felt comfortable and utterly right on the book, its slight weight feeling as if it belonged resting on his knees. Never before had an inanimate object made him feel so content. All of his troubles – Voldemort, Malfoy, Snape, being gay, the War… seemed to slowly drift away under this tide of serenity.

Harry began to read.

'**Desire our knowledge, want our secrets. These pages will lay down the Shadowed Path of Light and Darkness, wizard. You are lost amongst the forest, but we shall find you. You are drained by the Dark One – let us be a balm on your soul. Fear not, we are the answers you seek for the unknown. We are joined with you; separate but never parting, knowing all but bending our awareness to your will. **

**Read our words, young sapling, and all your Wars will be won. The choice is yours.**'

Everything seemed to stop. The magic that had made the book impossible to resist was gone, and Harry, being the logical boy that he was, did the first thing that came to his mind.

He threw the book as hard as he could. It hit the bookcase to the left and ricocheted to land a few inches from his feet. He stumbled back clumsily, knocking over a small table in his wake. High, panicked breaths were released from his throat while his heart beat furiously in his chest.

Not even under Voldemort's _Imperious_ had Harry felt such a powerful possession. Even now, the book sang to him, tempting him to pick it up. No, the book was cursed. It had to be. Why else would its worn cover promise Harry so many things? Why else did it feel as if it had belonged to him his entire life, like a loyal pet?

But if it was cursed, why hadn't the spell activated the moment he touched it? Why wasn't he lying on the floor with his entrails hanging out, lit aflame with some Magical blaze, or frozen solid? What if it was a timed curse – one that would lay dormant until he woke one morning with his eyes missing or something?

As Harry considered all of these horrifying possibilities, his hand was unknowingly reaching for the book once more. Only when he found himself stooped on the ground, arm poised merely inches away from the cover, did he shake himself furiously.

He should just walk away. Nothing good would come of the _Grimoyre_. That much was certain. He would leave it be and never come back to his room – or hell, even the library. And he would go straight to Sirius and tell him that he had some kind of anathema existed in the Black Library. So that the Order members would be aware of it. Yes, that was what he would do.

And with that decided, Harry quickly picked up the book and put it in the large pocket on the inside of his jacket that was supposed to house emergency potions. Then he walked out the room while muttering, 'bad idea' repeatedly under his breath.

Stubbornly determined to put the issue out of his mind for the time being, Harry wondered around the library before finding a promising tomb on glamours. He sat down to read, the comforting feel of the Grimoyre in his pocket nearly forgotten.

**xXxXxXx**

Harry remained immersed in the thick book until the sound of footsteps startled him out of his 'studies.' He hardly had time to close it before he was a few feet away from the surprised face of Hermione Granger.

"Harry," the girl questioned softly. "What are you doing here?"

He cursed. This was exactly what he wanted to avoid, but he couldn't believe that he'd forgotten how Hermione frequented the library; it would have been better to bring the book (both of them) to his room. The last thing he needed was for her irrepressible curiosity to be roused by acting suspiciously. Thinking quickly, Harry replied, "I erm – couldn't sleep."

Running a hand through her curly locks, Hermione raised a single brow. "I've never known you to frequent the library when hit with insomnia, but perhaps it's a better habit then roaming through halls under an invisibility cloak and getting in perilous situations." She smiled quickly to show she was only joking.

Harry tried to make sure that his face didn't show obvious relief. "So, what are you doing here? You've finished all of your summer assignments, haven't you?"

"No, actually," The girl admitted to Harry's surprise. "I'm still putting the finishing touches to my Charms paper. Usually I would just limit my knowledge to what's in our textbook, but now that I've got an entire library at my disposal, I might as well be thorough!"

Now was one of those moments that Harry agreed with Ron entirely. The bookish Gryffindor had to be barking!

Seeing Harry's rather mystified expression, Hermione flushed slightly. "With the way you and Ronald act, one would think I'm drowning kittens instead of simply doing my work!"

"You're the smartest girl in Hogwarts, Hermione. We couldn't keep up with you if we tried. Ron and me, we're…. average. You're not. We don't mean to clash with your studies, we just do," Harry shrugged slightly as he said this.

The girl puffed up slightly with the complement. "Yes, well… hard work never hurt anyone. Ron could learn a thing or two about it – honestly, he's unbearable during the summer! All he wants to do is sleep and eat – and what's that?"

He was confused for a moment, before realizing that he still had the leather-bound book clasped tightly in his hand.

"Oh – um, it's nothing really. Just a book I was reading." _Good save there, Harry._

"What's it about," Hermione asked interested, having never known Harry be so flustered at being found reading.

"Quidditch," Harry replied quickly, knowing that was perhaps the only subject (besides Divination) the girl didn't enjoy researching.

Hermione hummed faintly and deftly stole the book out of Harry's hand. Eyes widening when she saw the title was too faded to read, she began to flip through the age-stained pages. He attempted to steal it out of hand before she could find out what it was about, knowing that she would be less than pleased with his reading material.

His reflexes were a bit to slow, however, and he watched with trepidation as his friend began to puff up in preparation for a lecture.

"_Understanding the Obscure: Dark Glamours and Other Means of Disguise_? Harry, what are you doing reading this sort of thing? There could be some really dangerous spells in this book, things that you shouldn't be reading. Sirius told us to stay away from any untitled books or those with faded titles, because some of them were cursed!"

"Oh – I didn't know that. But nothing happened, I'm not cursed." _That I know of_, Harry couldn't help but think when he remembered the other book in his pocket.

"That you know of Harry," she exclaimed, echoing his thoughts before adding, "Besides, there are plenty of reasons to not be reading it in the first place! For one, it's Dark –"

Harry rolled his eyes slightly, hoping it looked natural. "You act like I'm going to sprout fangs and start craving the flesh of children just because I'm reading a book that's a little Dark! There's nothing wrong with it."

Hermione's lips thinned into a stern line, not unlike that of Professor McGonagall's. "Oh, really? Well listen to this, 'The key to true deception is to first understand your victim – and how to bring about their demise.'" Harry noted that fear of a curse didn't stop _her_ from reading. "This sounds like something that a Slytherin would say! Not that they're all Dark, mind you, but Harry! Think about your connection with Voldemort and how reading something like this might affect it."

Now Harry wasn't just pretended to be annoyed. "And explain to me, pray tell, how me reading this would affect my connection with the Dark Lord."

She stared at him for a moment as if the answer was obvious before replying, "The Dark nature of the book will make it easier for Voldemort to take root in your thoughts. Professor Dumbledore said that negative emotions and influences make you better prey for His possession. The fact that you were so angry this past year was part of the reason that He was able to send you that false vision –"

"SHUT UP! Just stop!" How dare she bring that up, knowing how terrible of a blow Sirius' death had been to him! How dare she point out his guilt in all of it, as if he didn't know already. To be so bloody bold as to say it!

Deep down he knew that she hadn't meant it that way, but he couldn't help but to equate her words with a litany of 'your fault, your fault, your fault.' Harry was fuming, his hands shaking in anger and his mouth filled with a hundred harsh words that he was a hairsbreadth away from saying.

His head was facing away from her now, but he still heard her say tentatively, "Harry, you must know that I didn't mean… I wasn't saying that it was your –" _My fault and you and I both know it._

But he didn't say that. Instead he replied with a short, tense, "I know."

Hermione didn't stay long after that. Harry was left alone in the room, his sweaty hand gripping _Understanding the Obscure_ and his mind a million miles away.

**TBC**


	10. Working out the Details

**Author**: Angeleus

**Fandom**: Harry Potter

**Rating**: R (Adult)

**Genre**: Romance, Drama, Angst, H/C

**Pairing**: Harry/Draco

**Warnings**: Language, Anal, Explicit Torture, Disturbing imagery.

**Disclaimer**: In no way shape or form do I own any portion of the Harry Potter Universe. I am not making any profit from this fanfiction.

**Summary**: When Draco disobeys everything he's learned in a single action, he is made a prisoner in his own home. Can Harry and Severus save him, or will he be destroyed by an obsessive Dark Lord's plans? Can bonds of love and friendship triumph over ultimate evil? Harry/Draco, H/C, Tort, Lang, Anal

**Author's Note**: First off, I want to say that there won't be more Draco in this chapter. Sorry about that, but this chapter became so long that I had to cut it in two. The next chapter will definitely contain Draco. I promise! Also, I'm trying something a bit new for this chapter: Introspective Sirius. I thought it might be interesting to see what goes on in his head without making him sound like a rash idiot. Plenty of people have him portrayed as a fun loving prankster with no space for regret in his head. I would like to think that there's more to the man who survived 12 years in Azkaban. Also, more Sirius/Remus developments in this chapter! **Fluff warning!**

**ANOTHER NOTE:** Except for certain circumstances, the Dark Lord's hiss with every word that has an 's' in it will be implied and not written into the actual dialogue. Constantly adding a extra 's' or two is not only tiresome, but leaves more room for grammatical errors.

Thanks to my wonderful beta, **Vittani**, for editing this chapter so quickly. I don't know what I'd do without you!

**Chapter Ten**: Working out the Details

Sirius woke slowly, feeling a little less sluggish then he usually did. While he hadn't wanted to show others just how weak he felt, Sirius had found himself sleeping late quite a lot these past few weeks. His strength was returning gradually, but his impatient nature made it seems like years.

He couldn't manage more than a trip to the lavatory. For someone as independent as him, it was more than a little distressing. The previous year was a testament to how Sirius reacted to being confined. Even he, looking back on the events, could see that his actions had been utterly reckless. Recklessness fuelled by a desire to prove he wasn't useless. But he'd learned his lesson. Sirius chuckled tiredly. Remus would fall over from shock if he ever heard _Sirius Black_ admitting he was wrong.

But Remus was actually the reason why he regretted his actions at the Department of Mysteries. Remus and Harry. Although he hadn't been able to see their devastation first hand, passing comments made him realize the pain he'd put them both through. He'd found out

from Hermione that Harry hardly ate, slept, or smiled after his death. And Harry being, well, _Harry_ – happy, content kid that he was – shocked him with that out of character behavior.

And Remus. Remus who, after his death, hadn't had anyone to lean on. Quiet, silent Remus suffering alone and unnoticed by those around him. Remus, who went through two full moons without him, after Sirius had made the solemn promise to never let the werewolf face them alone.

Seeing Remus break down in front of him had been the clincher. The sandy-haired man had to be the most reserved person he'd ever known – better at hiding his emotions than any Slytherin. Watching the tears stream down his cheeks, seeing the pain on that face…

Even now it made his insides squirm with guilt. Although he was still a bit fuzzy on the events that led to him being pushed through the Veil, others relayed what happened. The last thing he remembered was being in the process of rushing over to the Ministry. After that… things got confusing. Sirius could the remember the chaos of battle, brightly colored spells flashing, the feeling of powerful magic, Bellatrix's mocking laughter, his own arrogance… nothing but impressions and the smallest flashes of imagery.

No, it wasn't his fault that his cousin had been a murderous sycophant for the Dark Lord. But there was no excuse for egging her on the way he had, or letting his guard down in the process. He'd been shamed when Kingsley showed him the events in Albus' pensieve. He wished that he couldn't remember anything at all. After seeing himself act like such a bloody idiot, his memories were slowly resurfacing. Most disturbing was his utter selfishness. Sirius could feign ignorance all he wanted, but he knew exactly what he'd been thinking while he dueled Bella.

He hadn't been thinking about Harry or Remus in that moment, no. Not about how he was the closest thing his godson had to a father or how he would rekindle his relationship with Moony. He'd been thinking about finally getting to knock Bellatrix on her arse, about the satisfaction of _finally_ being able to do something useful. About how Snape would no longer mock him about being a freeloader once he took out the Dark Lord's more reverent supporter.

He'd been a fool. But he could continue on with his self-chastisement later.

Yawning and stretching lethargically, Sirius resigned himself to another day of lazing about. Maybe he'd be lucky enough to find something interesting to –

At that moment, the door creaked open slowly and two amber eyes peered at him in an almost nervous fashion. Immediately, his chest was filled with a soft warmth. It was a feeling he had always associated with his Remus. Yes, he liked the way that sounded. _His_ Remus.

"I – didn't know if you would be awake yet," Remus murmured from the doorway, but made no move to enter the room. Crap. He could see the barely concealed indecision in those eyes. The werewolf was unsure of how he should address what had happened between them the night before. Especially the kiss.

Well, that just wouldn't do. He wouldn't allow Remus to pretend that it never happened. Sirius wanted to move forward, not backtrack.

"Hey, Remus. Come in and keep me company. I'm bored," Sirius complained with a large grin, unable to keep the whine completely out of his voice.

"You still have marks on your cheek from the pillow. I don't understand how you could possibly be bored if you've only just woken." Remus said this as he moved towards the bed slowly. Besides the lightness of his words, there was a certain skittishness to his movements that told Sirius he would have to be careful.

"Hmph," was Sirius' response.

"Very mature," Remus teased gently, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.

"I've been told so," Sirius replied in a lofty voice, delighted when a small chuckle escaped from the other man's lips. Their eyes locked for a moment. Sirius' breath was taken away. Then Remus' eyes averted, and the moment was gone.

"How – are you feeling today?" Remus was still looking to the floor as he said this, and Sirius wanted to scream in frustration. He wanted to see those eyes again, even if for just a second. He wanted to know how much Remus cared for him – wanted to see that warmth. Most of all, he wanted to tell Remus that he loved him.

If only he weren't the cowardly sort of Gryffindor. "Ready to get out of this bloody bed, but knowing my body isn't exactly up to it," Sirius admitted sheepishly.

"You have made plenty of progress since you first showed up here," Remus remarked. "You looked as if you'd been put through quite the ringer. I –" Remus stopped before the words left his mouth, his face tightening briefly.

"Yeah. I don't really remember the first couple of days back. I think I was pretty out of it."

Surprisingly, Remus snorted. "You _were_ pretty out of it. When you weren't unconscious or delirious with fever, you were so full of nutrition potions that nothing you said was inoffensive. It was actually – quite amusing."

Sirius' eyebrows rose slightly. No one had mentioned that. "Really?"

"Yes. They actually kept Harry out of the room, lest he here something that would make his virgin ears burn off." The werewolf had a bit of a blush on his cheeks, obviously remembering some of the things Sirius had said.

The black-haired man was more than a little interested in what had happened during those days now. That would explain the reason why everyone had seemed slightly discomfited around him after he came to. Sirius had thought it simply because of his miraculous reappearance.

Plus, anything that made Remus blush was a good thing. "Was it really that bad?"

"It was worse than when you got drunk at James and Lily's reception."

Sirius choked slightly. "W-What? Was I… that out of it?"

Sirius was known by most (at least those who used to go drinking with him) as a shockingly vulgar and amorous drunk. The part of the brain that kept most men from spouting out every perverted thought that ran through their head malfunctioned every time Sirius got smashed. While he wasn't in the least violent and never forced himself on anyone while imbibed, he would almost always end up treating his date and/or a perfect stranger to a wild and slightly kinky night. For the last couple of years before he got thrown in Azkaban, all of Sirius' drunken attentions had been focused on one person: Remus. It had inferred plenty about the depth of his feelings. Sirius, perhaps the horniest drunk known to man, had never once strayed from Remus. No matter how pissed he got.

It was something none of Sirius' previous flings could boast.

And while it took a lot to embarrass the likes of Padfoot, the idea that he might have told Molly Weasley or _gods forbid_ Snape something pertaining to the size of his cock was nothing less than mortifying.

Remus gave him a sideways glance. "Let me put it this way: anyone who hadn't known the nature of our relationship had _intimate_ details of how we get on by the third day you were here."

The werewolf flushed even deeper after saying this and Sirius couldn't contain his snicker. Yes, anything that made Remus blush was definitely a good thing. He opened his mouth to say something sly that would have likely competing with his comments while under the influence of potions when Remus' phrasing made him freeze. The man had said the 'nature of the relationship' and 'how we get on' in present tense – not past.

It took a moment for the implications to fully hit him.

That meant – that _meant_ Remus still cared for him romantically, at least. Maybe even still loved him. Oh gods – this, this was wonderful. Little fireworks of joy were exploding in his head, and if he were Padfoot at the moment, there was no doubt that his tail would be wagging as he ran around in excited circles.

Remus must have lost his usual adeptness for reading Sirius' face and thought the shock there was something negative for he began to frown concernedly.

"What's wrong? Are you –" The werewolf never got to finish his sentence as his mouth was suddenly filled with his best friend's tongue. His eyes widened in shock for a moment, both because he was surprised a man on bed rest could move so fast and at the fire that seemed to be coursing through his Lycanthrope veins.

But Remus relaxed after a moment, his golden eyes falling shut as he surrendered to the slick feeling of Sirius's tongue dancing with his own. It was so easy to close his eyes and believe it was sixteen years prior, him and Sirius snogging furiously as they tried to avoid being caught by James, who would rib them mercilessly.

He could feel the lips began to swell and bruise against his own as he began to map out a mouth he'd never truly forgotten. Then Sirius ran his nimble tongue across his top incisors and Remus gave a full-body shiver, the wolf howling in the recesses of his mind at the arousing touch. _Ah, god._ Sirius had never truly forgotten his mouth, either.

Fine-boned but capable hands ran through silver streaked auburn-mahogany hair, making him give another shudder and release a small moan. Remus wanted to reciprocate the action, aching to feel Sirius' dark, soft locks under his fingers, but his body felt heavy and his limbs weighted. Almost as if he was swimming through molasses.

And as suddenly as the kiss had begun, it ended. Remus found himself leaning forward slightly, trying to prologue the feeling of those lips against his. His eyes locked with Sirius', staring into the enlarged pupils in an almost dazed fashion, unable to snapped out of his stupor.

"W-Why… Sirius –" The werewolf made a false attempt to wiggle out of the other man's embrace, not really wanting to be separated from him.

"Remus, let's try again," Sirius nearly whispered, his eye's half-lidded and his lips mere inches away from Remus'.

"I –" Remus mouth faintly, his voiced robbed from him.

"I need you."

Remus squeezed his eyes shut, unable to bear the emotion in the pair in front of him. "You can't. I'm not… good for you – or anyone."

"You are," Sirius countered earnestly. "You're the best thing to ever happen to me."

"I believed you betrayed me. I left you to, to _rot_ in that…"

"No – Remus. Don't."

"I don't even know how you stomach looking at me," Remus continued as if he hadn't heard Sirius, eyes still closed.

"You're the most beautiful person I know." How Sirius could say that with so much truth in his voice was a mystery.

"No. I'm a weak, deformed, cowardly, infected _animal_ who hated you for years. How can you –"

"Don't you ever say that about yourself!" He didn't even flinch when the hands around his tightened almost painfully, or when Sirius's raised voice echoed around the room. The other Gryffindor had always been quick to jump to his defense, even when he didn't deserve it.

Especially when he didn't deserve it.

"You can't deny the truth."

"Neither can you." Remus didn't even know what that was supposed to mean.

"Sirius…"

"I love you," Sirius snapped heatedly, "And I'm not taking no for a bloody answer, Remy! Not because you have some misguided belief that my going to Azkaban was your fault or because you won't allow yourself to be happy. Stop being so bleeding stubborn!"

Remus finally opened eyes to find Sirius looking livid, his mouth pressed into a firm line. His eyes were blazing with so many emotions, but Remus could see the love there… so much of it. It didn't make sense. Why was Sirius deluding himself? He wasn't – and never was – this wonderful person the Black heir had always seen. He began to state just that when Sirius uttered a single word. One word, a plea – spoken so brokenly.

"_Please_." Tears sung in his eyes and he swallowed the lump in his throat as Sirius face took on the most anguished expression Remus had ever seen. "Why won't you just let me make you happy? We were happy before, weren't we?"

"Sirius," he whimpered faintly.

"Please," Sirius murmured again, brushing his lips lightly against Remus' once more.

He was quiet for a long while. "I don't want to hurt you," he finally declared as a single tear dripped from his eyelash. Sirius kissed it away.

"You _are_ hurting me." What could Remus possibly say to refute such an honest statement?

Nothing, nothing except… "I love you so much." Saying the words felt like uttering a deadly curse, like howling at the full moon, like… like coming home.

"Then stop fighting me."

Remus stared blindly at their joined hands as a few more teardrops ran down his face to splash on the appendages. He wanted to look up, but he couldn't. Because Sirius was crying too.

He opened his mouth to speak, but found it too dry to form words. Swallowing briefly, he attempted to verbalize words – the words that would end all of this madness.

"I –" His voice was so raspy that it sounded like a dry quill on parchment. "I want to – try again."

"Oh thank gods, thank gods," Sirius choked out over and over again as he crushed Remus to his chest, feeling the man grasp his torso desperately as he soaked his pajamas with tears. But that was okay. Because Remus' hair was catching the drops of moisture from his own face.

**xXxXxXx**

Severus had a headache. No, scratch that. He had an invisible, undetectable troll using its ax to split his temple in two, chortling all the while. And no, this wasn't just an extremely exaggerated hyperbole. It was a little known fact that the Potion's Master suffered from often agonizing tension headaches.

They actually explained much about his snappish and impolite disposition.

It was hard to deal with children that didn't know the difference between sugar root and mandrake while it felt like brain matter was leaking from the back of his skull. It also didn't help that Severus wasn't a naturally good-tempered individual. He really _was _that mean-spirited and sharp-tongued, but without the pains in his temple, Severus could _probably _hold back most of his sharp barbs. The only person he'd found that could sympathize with the pain he went through on a daily basis had been Draco, who suffered from similar chronic migraines.

But headaches would be the least of Draco's problems if – when – he got out of his current mess. And if this wasn't the worst time to be concerning himself with such things, while he was being stared down by the Dark Lord himself? Especially with the pains making his head throb so distractingly. This weakness never failed to make its presence known when Severus needed his wits about him the most.

No one truly understood how complex it was to constantly Occlude while making sure that one of the most powerful Legimens of all time had no idea he was doing it. It was not merely enough to hide his true thoughts and desires effectively. Severus also had to make his mind appear completely open to the Dark Lord, as any type of mental shield blocking His entry would be considered treason.

The fact that Voldemort hadn't yet found out Severus' allegiances was due to two factors. One, that Severus was perhaps the most powerful and skilled Occlumens alive at the moment. The second factor dealt with the Dark Lord's rather sloppy use of Legilimency. While the monster's sheer power was extraordinary, his Legilimency was operated using brute force and strength instead of finesse and skill. While this boorish technique had worked on every person Voldemort had ever attempted it on, the Dark Lord was unable to foresee (due to his foolish cockiness) the possibility of meeting someone who could Occlude as powerfully as he could Legilimens.

It was the only advantage Severus had against him, and it was one he used with the utmost care. Which is why he was currently carefully manipulating the Dark Lord to ignore the little dark pockets in the recesses of his mind while his memories were ransacked for any sign of disloyalty.

Yes, Draco's little double-cross had left Mr. All-Powerful-and-Omniscient-Lord just the tiniest bit paranoid about his followers. To say the least. If the son of Lucius Malfoy, one of the most loyal and fanatical of his followers, could risk his life to save a muggle girl, what little secrets were the others keeping?

Several lower level Death Eaters had found themselves on the business end of an Avada Kedavra after the Dark Lord found a bit of discontent with his methods in their heads. Eight, to be exact. Severus was most definitely not going to be number nine. But, then again, he wasn't exactly lower level.

He finally felt Voldemort withdraw from his mind with a viciousness that was both inherent and unintentional. He wondered briefly if the Dark Lord knew how amateurish his Legilimency was – doubtful since the bastard thought himself to be no less than a God.

"Stand, Severus." Severus stood slowly, his head still bowed slightly to show deference he really didn't feel. Was it just him, or were the Dark Lord's unconscious 'hiss' becoming less noticeable?

"My Lord, how may I be of service?" _You Called me here, so give me something to do. Quickly. Before my rage over what you are doing to my godson overcomes my common sense and I set you aflame with fiendfyre_, Severus thought rather desperately. At this very moment, all of his hate and desire for vengeance were being drowned into pools in the very back of his mind. Even with that, it was all he could do to not launch himself at the pedophile and attempt to beat his face in – all thoughts of magic forgotten. He wanted to feel skin split under his knuckles.

_I will see you dead_, Severus promised himself suddenly. _Even if it means my life ends the moment you are put out of existence. _

"First I may need to remind you not to speak without permission." No it definitely wasn't his imagination; the Dark Lord's words had somehow become less sibilant. Perhaps he'd read from one of the dead fool's minds how his words sounded more like a lisp than Parseltongue.

Severus suddenly remembered he was supposed to show fear when the Dark Lord raised his wand. And now, instead of casting the usual 'Crucio,' the Dark Lord was watching him with undisguised curiosity. Oh, bugger.

"Am I ssso uninteresssting, Ssseveruss," the Dark Lord snapped out. "That I cannot keep your attention?" And damn, that horrible 'sss' after nearly every word was back. Severus forced himself to stop obsessing over Voldemort's bad pronunciation before he did indeed end up being number nine.

"Forgive me, my Lord. I did not mean to appear… uninterested." And, even better. That had come out nearly sarcastic. If he hadn't been such a high-ranking Death Eater, second only to Lucius now that Bellatrix was dead, some of his limbs would be missing. What in the hells was wrong with him? He would be unable to plan Draco's escape if he ended up in the dungeons himself. He had to put his rage behind him for now. For Draco.

"Crucio," the snake hissed out lazily. He'd been put under this so often, the unbearable agony derived from Dark magic manipulating his nerves almost felt familiar. He fell to his knees, fighting back the screams that would probably satisfy Voldemort more, and instead making low keening sounds in the back of his throat.

Finally, after an eternity of burning pain, the spell was ended when Severus was unable to hold back a sharp cry. "My slippery Potion's Master… all these years have not taught to you to hold that wily tongue of yours. I am beginning to find it most tiresome."

Severus continued to kneel, staring down at the cobbled floor beneath him with the pent up rage of almost twenty years. He had to get control of himself… had to. Draco was depending on him, waiting for absolution from the hell he'd stumbled into. And he would do anything and everything possible get Draco out.

With that resolve in mind, Severus composed himself with near impeccable ease. "Forgive me, my Lord," he said once more with reverent deference and shame.

"You have so much fury, my Potion's Master. I can taste it in the very air I breathe," Voldemort mused. "What enrages you so?"

After years of being a double agent, Severus had learned one truth – the best lies weren't really lies at all. "Draco," he murmured truthfully. "It leaves me… distraught that a boy I influenced has made such grave errors. He does not deserve his life, my Lord, does not deserve to still be in our presence. I am angry that he has not been dealt with." After saying this, he looked up cautiously to observe the Dark Lord's reaction to his words.

Voldemort seemed to consider his words carefully before something akin to amusement graced that snake-like face. "Your dear godson's actions have disturbed you so?"

Severus inclined his head slightly. "It is true, my Lord."

"And you ache for his death?"

Every fiber of his being burned with the injustice of it all as Severus answered with a quick nod. Gods, if he got one moment alone with Draco, just one moment, he would find a way to get him out. Damn Albus and his bloody plans; if he got an opening, the emergency Portkey meant for his personal use would be activated to send Draco away.

Never mind that the plan was dangerous and prone to failure because the wards would prevent the Portkey from working effectively. The transportation device was supposed to be used during raids only. Never mind that even if it did work, it wouldn't have enough power to move both him and Draco. Never mind that he would be left behind, facing certain death as a traitor as well as rape once his glamour was broken. Nothing he thought of at the moment was bound to be rational.

Rationality had left him the moment he'd found out Draco was being… _touched_ by that monster.

"And if I forbid his death, dear Severus? Would your rage cause you to disobey my orders? Would you have to be put down like a rabid dog, blinded by the indignity of the pretty traitor being allowed to live?" He forced himself not to react to these words while he thought of the perfect response. Though they were said lightly, in an amused fashion, there was danger in these words. Severus would have to tread carefully.

"Your will, my Lord… your will is my true law. If you forbid Draconis to be harmed, I shall do nothing but carry out your orders." Obviously, he'd said something wrong, for the Dark Lord tightened a skeletal hand around his wand as his red eyes became suddenly enraged. Severus was surprised he hadn't been cursed yet.

"His name is not to pass from your lips, unworthy fool."

Severus closed his eyes in horror, swallowing the bile in this throat. That the Dark Lord had become so entrenched in his obsession with Draco was terrifying. To forbid the mentioning of his name, as if his godson was some sort of deity…

For perhaps the first time, Severus seriously considered that this may be more than just a passing fancy for Voldemort. This power that the Dark Lord believed Draco to have was

obviously something he coveted. And because of this, perhaps Draco was safer now than when he'd just been a hated traitor. Almost immediately, Severus regretted thinking such a thing. Draco's life would mean nothing if, by the time they were able to get to him, his sanity was so broken by the Dark Lord's advances that he was merely a shell of his former self.

Steeling himself, Severus looked up, relaxing slightly when he saw that Dark Lord did not seem inclined to curse him. "I apologize for the error, my Lord." _You sick, sick fuck. I'm going to help end you, I swear it. I swear it… _Severus did not know that his godson had made the same promise to himself only days before.

The Dark Lord gave him a deadened stared for several long moments, and Severus could feel a single bead of sweat travel from the nape of his neck and down his spine. He felt the harsh, blunt prodding of Legimency breaking through his seemingly unprotected mind and waited for the Dark Lord to find (or not find) what he was looking for.

Then, the Dark Lord made the most petrifying facial expression Severus had ever seen: a smile. "You are very loyal to your liege. Aren't you, Potion's Master?"

Severus constructed his face into a slightly adoring expression he knew the Dark Lord favored. "I am your most loyal servant, Master."

This seemed the delight Voldemort even more, if that was at all possible. "Then you will not balk from the task I will give to you?"

Severus' eyebrows rose slightly in surprise, to his shame. He couldn't help it – the Dark Lord had never, not even once, allowed someone to refuse a task assigned to them. And yet Voldemort was phrasing it as if Severus had a choice – it was most disturbing.

"I am nothing more than willing to do your bidding, Master."

"Very well, Severus. You will use your skill in potions to make me a draught."

He found himself nodding, fighting not to show obvious relief. A potion, no matter its nefarious purpose, was something he could easily do. For a moment he'd thought that the Dark Lord would force him to do something truly despicable. Not to say that potions weren't deadly enough, but –

"Make me the _Gigno Latito_." (1) To say he was shocked would be perhaps the understatement of the century. To say he was horrified would be the understatement of the millennia. To say he wanted to run screaming from the throne room, cover be damned would be… the truth. But Severus found himself nodding and accepting the cursed task, promising to brew a potion that no Master had successfully brewed before. Promising to make a draught that had killed every person who attempted to do so, and swearing not to return until it was made. Thank the gods the clever little charm in his pocket was currently drawing a mystical map of the Manor, because Severus doubted he would return anything but a traitor.

As he walked down the corridor, forcing himself not to break into a sprint, Severus hysterically thought that Albus' plan was not the worse idea he'd ever heard.

TBC – Do you have a clue as to what Albus might be planning?

(1) Gigno Latito – _Gigno_ means to bring forth in Latin and _latito _means to lie hidden. It is supposed to be interpreted as 'bring forth what lies hidden,' but I apologize for what has to be atrocious grammar. I don't have a really good source on Latin, so if anyone knows a good Latin dictionary, or the correct way to write out the name of this draught, please let me know. As for what the draught does… that remains to be seen. Don't worry, you'll find out eventually!


	11. Brainwashing and Manipulating

**Author**: Angeleus

**Fandom**: Harry Potter

**Rating**: R (Adult)

**Genre**: Romance, Drama, Angst, H/C

**Pairing**: Harry/Draco

**Warnings**: Language, Anal, Explicit Torture, Disturbing imagery.

**Disclaimer**: In no way shape or form do I own any portion of the Harry Potter Universe. I am not making any profit from this fanfiction.

**Summary**: When Draco disobeys everything he's learned in a single action, he is made a prisoner in his own home. Can Harry and Severus save him, or will he be destroyed by an obsessive Dark Lord's plans? Can bonds of love and friendship triumph over ultimate evil? Harry/Draco, H/C, Tort, Lang, Anal

**Author's Note**: Okay, so now I'm going to do some Lucius-bashing. Nothing new there in the realm of Harry/Draco fanfiction, but I hope mine will be a little bit more original than 'daddy stole my teddy bear.' Also, doing a new POV, so I hope that it turned out well.

Thanks to my wonderful beta, **Vittani**, for editing this extra-long chapter super fast!

**Chapter Eleven**: Brainwashing and Manipulating

Draco awoke slowly, surprising himself immensely. He supposed it was true that if one was tired enough, they could sleep anywhere. The Dark Lord's chambers, despite the sinfully comfortable bed, were not exactly the perfect place to relax in. Especially considering the Dark Lord had some sort of predilection for touching him.

But his body had needed sleep. And who was he to deny it something it had obviously needed so desperately.

Before he'd woken, Draco had odd, half-remembered dreams of events he'd never seen and places he'd never been. While this may have been unsettling for most, it was a small comfort to the blonde in light of his situation. His dreams had always been that way – explicably having little to nothing to do with his life on a whole.

It was stabilizing to know that some things about him would never change.

What wasn't stabilizing, however, was Voldemort's increasingly strange behavior. The Dark Lord seemed to accept his declarations of loyalty rather quickly – too quickly, in fact. Draco had been expecting a battle – some show of doubt towards his intentions. Instead he got a waving white flag and a treaty before the war even started. It was most disconcerting.

And while Draco wasn't one to look a gift-owl in the beak, he was distrustful of the entire situation. It was obvious the Dark Lord didn't trust him completely – if he did, the blond doubted that the collar around his neck would still be in place. Not to mention the little fact of him still being blind. Naturally, this all pointed to a vast amount of mistrust on the Dark Lord's part, but Draco could not sense it when he was spoken to.

He was, thankfully, left alone for most of the day. Draco guessed being a Dark Overlord hell-bent on controlling the world was a time-consuming profession, to say the least. Plans to make, minions to punish, spirits to crush… it was a plethora of responsibility for just one lonesome monster, no matter the fools that decided to follow him.

And to think there was a time when Draco had wanted to become part of the motley crew. No, not just part of it, the _best_ Death Eater – the most talented and loyal follower of the Dark Lord. As a young boy, Draco had often dreamed up fanciful futures for himself in the Dark Lord's forces. Usually, after doing something else wrong in the eyes of his father and being punished for it, he would think of how one day Lucius would be proud of his only son. Of how his father would one day touch him with kindness, instead of striking out in anger. He imagined what Lucius' eyes would look like when lit with pride instead of smoldering with disappointment.

His small back had been bowed with the tremendous and relentless pressure of being the Malfoy heir. From the hour of his birth, it seemed, Draco had been taught the 'correct' way to speak and act. This all centered on being as unemotional as possible – of being a human shell filled only with contempt for those weaker and less fortunate than himself. A child barely older than a toddler, however, would have difficulty hiding his happiness and excitement at seeing his father for the first time in weeks.

It was a day remembered vividly, the day his father came back after nearly a month of being abroad. Draco, still ignorant in the ways of Malfoy, had rushed down the sprawling stairs, planning on jumping into his daddy's arms. He remembered his own innocent laughter, his cheeks flushed with joy as he neared Lucius. This perfect little reunion was ruined when his father grabbed his small arm viciously to halt Draco's movement, before backhanding him so hard that Draco would have fallen if he hadn't been held up.

"Daddy," he remembered whimpering, shaking and crying as blood ran down his chin.

His father had dropped him to the floor then, looming over him with full height. The man's lip had been curled up in disgust when he said, "Running like a heathen is a disgrace to a blood line, and to show so much emotion is despicable. Your childish little letters… 'I miss you, daddy. Come home soon' were sickening. I would have been shamed had anyone seen such a weak display. We are Malfoys, boy! Even now, sniveling on the floor like a simpleton… how could I have raised such a pathetic son?" Lucius looked down at him once more, and although Draco barely understood half of the words spoken, he understood enough.

"Narcissa," the man had spoken as he walked away. "Come and collect him. My journey has been long and I already tire of him." His father had said other things as well, scolding his mother for failing to teach him proper decorum. But Draco, curled up in a little ball on the cold marble of the floor, blocked out all of the hurtful words as he cried.

He couldn't have been more than four, maybe five.

Maybe a normal, sane child would have hated their father for such cruelty. Not Draco, however. Perhaps he'd truly been his father's mindless fool, or perhaps it was just because of his young age. But he'd believed Lucius' insanity and attempted to reach those impossible standards, tried to make himself an unemotional puppet, wanted to earn his father's love, wanted to gain his mother's attention enough to drag her from the mirror.

So, naturally, he would grasp at anything that made those goals possible. The only time Lucius had ever been remotely kind was when he was retelling his experiences as the Dark Lord's servant. He spoke of the honor, of how he'd been a part of restoring the Wizarding World to its natural order. He'd spoke of the glory, but not of the pain – the sacrifice of one's soul while playing a part in the fight for the 'greater good.'

Lucius painted the Muggles as violent, uncontrollable beasts who waited in every shadow with crude weapons to murder kind Wizarding folk. Draco used to have nightmares of troll-like creatures coming from his closet, wanting to kill him because of his magic. Lucius had told him once, "You must understand, Draco, it is either them or us. That is the only choice given to those pure of blood. They would see us wiped out, our great heritage erased from all history."

And Muggleborns, of course, were misshapen and monstrous – unworthy Muggles gifted with magic because of some cosmic joke. They were especially dangerous, as their true loyalty was to their magic-less family and they actually had power to challenge pureblood's status in the world, although purebloods were far superior, of course.

The lies didn't stop there, however. Draco was told that merely being in the presence of a Mudblood would sap his power because they had gotten their magic by unknown means and weren't above stealing his. Every squib born to a pureblood family was proof of Muggleborn treachery – angry, jealous Muggles had stolen the magic from the unborn child, using it to pass into a world they didn't belong in. Imagine a child who'd been born into a household of magic hearing such things. Imagine the fear it would inspire.

And the way that the Light side was portrayed…

"And the worse out of all our enemies, perhaps, are the blood-traitors," Lucius had nearly growled out one afternoon before Draco's eight birthday. "Wizard-folk who protect the lives of Mudblood and Muggles, even… procreating with the creatures as if they were the same as us." Lucius had closed his eyes then, as if the thought nearly made him faint with disgust. Draco, rarely seeing any emotion on his father's face, had been fascinated by the rant. "Do you know they would have me killed, Draco, for putting those creatures in their place? Can you imagine your father imprisoned in Azkaban, nothing more than sustenance for the Dementors, for protecting my family from a threat they refuse to see exists? They allow Mudbloods to invade Wizarding Britain, breaking their own laws to inform the families of the little fiends about magic. I tell nothing but the truth, my son. The allow Muggles to _know_ about us, to visit our places of commerce as if they were Wizarding folk and not pushing us to the brink of extinction."

Draco's mouth had been hanging in shock, his eyes wide and horrified by the tale his father was spinning. The truth and lies had been woven together so skillfully that Draco had no hope of picking them apart.

"You must never, ever be taken in by their lies, Draco. Their leader, Albus Dumbledore, would have you believe that there is no danger, that we should all _co-exist_."

"But Father," He recalled asking timidly, "isn't Albus Dumbledore the Headmaster of Hogwarts?"

His father had nodded at him solemnly before continuing. "Yes, and that is why your mother would rather I send you to Durmstrang when the time comes. But I want you to understand the workings of the world now, and learn how to maneuver in the midst of our enemies. Hogwarts is not simply a school, Draco. It is a battle ground, far more than it was during my time there. That is because they have grown smug, believing that our great Lord was defeated by a half-blood infant. They will believe they have all the power, but you must never listen to them, my son. You must fight for our way of life, be ready to defend yourself against hoards of Mudbloods and blood-traitors. You will do our ancestors proud, won't you, Draco?"

Draco had nodded eagerly, ready to promise everything and anything to see that sparkle of satisfaction in his father's eyes.

Of course, he believed every word. How could he not? Draco had never even _seen_ Muggle or Muggleborn at that point; he had nothing to contradict or challenge his father's words. Not only that, but he was given a purpose by his father's prejudices – savior of Wizarding kind. He would be a warrior in the Dark Lord's forces, fighting to preserve his way of life.

Draco never imagined that his enemies would bleed, that they could cry out in pain and anguish. That they would be defenseless children – Lucius had described their young as similar to Manticore cubs, who tore themselves out of their mother's stomachs when born. He'd been taught to believe they had no souls, that Draco would be doing them a service by ending their lives. The lives of Muggles and Mudbloods, after all, were a cursed existence. Draco never expected to see golden eyes look up at him pleading, asking for absolution, to see a little girl tortured needlessly for –

He froze, his thoughts fleeing as the sound of a door opening pierced through the silence.

**xXxXxXx**

Bill Weasley was more than a little confused.

Going to Grimmauld Place, Order of the Phoenix Headquarters, had long since stopped being a novel experience for him. After first swearing an oath of fealty against his mother's wishes over a year ago, Bill was inducted into the Order – part of the first wave of newcomers willing to fight in the second war, a war not yet acknowledged by the greater part of the Wizarding World.

He'd been firm in his decision, knowing that someone with his skills in curse-breaking would be needed in Britain more than just as another curse-breaker under Gringotts employ. And, of course, Bill would be telling a flat-out lie if he didn't admit that he was spellbound (no pun intended) by the prestige and honor of joining such an institution against injustice. Plus, there was the added bonus of getting to help the enchanting (also no pun intended) Fleur Delacour with her 'Eengleesh.'

Ahh, dear Fleur. Yes, she was quite something – to say the least. She was very… generous in her rewards for those little lessons. Even now, Bill had trouble keeping the lecherous grin off his face while thinking about it – an expression he knew made him look startlingly like his siblings Gred and Forge, as they preferred to be called. The gits.

But these thoughts would have to wait for another time.

Anyway, he'd been honored to become part of the Order – and understandably excited when he was first escorted to Headquarters. Bill had been, dare he say, gleeful as he read the little paper with Dumbledore's handwriting (who was the Secret Keeper and how cool was that) then watched in awe as the house sprung out of nowhere. As his Art dealt with plenty of protection spells, he could feel the tingle of powerful wards carefully interwoven with one another. To put it bluntly, he was impressed.

Nothing could have prepared him, of course, for actually stepping foot in Grimmauld Place.

Dingy, dirty, and damn near uninhabitable Grimmauld Place. Which had once been home to several generations of Dark wizards, and yes, the irony had not escaped him. It was then that Bill learned his 'noble calling' was to be nothing more than a glorified servant, for the moment. Not that he complained. So he cleaned and scrubbed and got attacked by little disgusting creatures as he prepared the house for human habitation.

There were a couple of others there cleaning, but everyone mostly kept to themselves. Well, except for Tonks. But she was such a goof half the time; she could fit right between Fred and George in the Weasley clan. Things were kinda quiet, peaceful almost.

Then, suddenly, people starting disappearing. Not enough to notice anything was wrong unless one already knew the Dark Lord was back. But Bill had been expecting it; almost waiting for it to a certain extent. Although most of his brother's tended to forget it, he'd been eleven and in Hogwarts before the last Great War had ended. (1) And he knew that these little disappearances were the sign of something more sinister – the return of the Dark Lord.

There was an explosion of activity as Grimmauld was rapidly occupied and truly became Order Headquarters. By the middle of the summer, it had felt like the war was truly breaking out – for the Order of the Phoenix anyway. There had already been a number of battles between Order members and Death Eaters. Well, to call them battles would be a bit much, but several duels and skirmishes that resulted in injury or death had occurred. These were mostly due to the timely intervention of the murder and torture of Muggles and Muggleborns; at least, when Snape was able to give them a heads up. Bill soon wised up after being part of many successful – and failed – rescues. There was little excitement or glory to be had in war.

It was dirtier than he'd thought it'd be – and not in a literal sense. Duels were rarely fought 'fair' in the truest sense of the word, even by Order members. He remembered one time that he had to literally spell mud _into_ a Death Eater's eyes to avoid being killed. Bill learned one important thing about himself: if keeping himself and fellow Order members alive meant he had to kill, he didn't hesitate. Not even for a second.

He often wondered if that made him a monster.

But that's how it was – kill or be killed. The only people who hadn't followed that rule were the ones that died early on.

But he was still thinking about things that didn't really pertain to current events, wasn't he? To sum things up, Bill had long since seen the realities of wartime action and it wasn't pretty – but it was often repetitive. Which was why he was surprised to find a rather interesting letter in his London apartment the day before, one unlike any other he'd received.

Physically, it had been nondescript – the starch white paper wouldn't catch anyone's eye for beauty or uniqueness. His name hadn't even been on the outside of it – something that would have usually been worrying – but the fact that it'd passed his wards made it safe to open. He'd shaken the paper open, which immediately caused his eyes to widen in shock. The handwriting had been utterly stunning. Bill was so used to seeing disorderly and almost illegible scrawls that the nearly calligraphic script took him by surprise.

Written with a green so dark it was nearly black, the words had seemed to make the utilitarian paper into a work of art. Each letter was made with straight, narrow strokes that curved slightly at the ends. Not every letter connected as it would with proper script, but it only made the handwriting more unique.

Bill had snatched his hand away with a start as he realized that, at some point, he started to stroke the paper.

The letter read as:

_W. Weasley_, (the small symbol of a dark red bird followed, signifying it to be official and binding Order business)

_Your attendance is requested at Birch tomorrow at 10:00 A.M. regarding your possible prescence in an upcoming raid. Because of the sensitive nature of this raid, any other information shall be given at the meeting. You may choose to not take part in this meeting, as it is to your digression. But be aware that time activated charms will prevent you from remembering the contents of this letter. A life hangs in the balance._

_More than kisses, letters mingle souls_. (2)

The man (and Bill could tell the handwriting was that of a man's for some reason) hadn't left a signature.

Bill had started at this, immediately understanding the seriousness of the situation. First off, there was no doubt that this letter was the real deal, as two Order codes were used. The calling Grimmauld Place 'Birch,' as well as the last line, 'More than kisses, letters mingle souls.' The latter was only to be used in emergency correspondences between Order members, as well as allowing one another to verify that the person sending the letter was indeed from the Order.

The most Bill had ever gotten in way of official Order notes were 'Meeting 7:00 P.M.' And he'd always been told what raids he would be participating in – either that or he readily volunteered for them. Nothing was ever truly secret, either. Even if he didn't personally participate in an operation, he was well aware of what was going on. This letter sounded as if no one but those involved would have an inkling about the raid. This was the first that Bill was hearing about secret raids; they weren't the norm, to say the least.

But what resonated in him the most was the line 'A life hangs in the balance.' It sounded almost like some sort of a rescue mission, not just part of the normal preventive actions taken to stop Death Eaters from creating more mayhem. And as soon as the thought went through his head, he immediately thought of the unknown recruit who the Order was currently working nonstop to rescue. Did this have something to do with that?

But that hadn't made any sense either. Everyone in the Order knew about that. Hell, even his baby brother Ron and his two friends were well aware of the situation! So it had to be something else. But what?

Bill took one long look at the letter before making a decision. He would make it to that meeting, if only to put his wildly spinning mind at ease. He didn't want a life to be lost due to his inaction.

A day later, and here he was at Order Headquarters, excited and nervous for the first time since he'd actually been brought to the place by Dumbledore. He stepped through the threshold, closing the door silently to avoid waking that blasted portrait. Afterwards, he made his way to the kitchen, expecting to see a small congregation of people, as was usual for any type of meeting.

Obviously, this was not the case. The kitchen was silent and still, a half-full cup of tea the only evidence that someone had visited it this morning. It took Bill a moment to realize what an idiot he was being. Of course the meeting wouldn't take place in the kitchen – it was supposed to be a bloody secret!

That left him with a little dilemma, however. Where was meeting going to take place if not in the kitchen? He wracked his brain for a moment before pulling out the folded letter and skimming over the entrancing handwriting. No, there was no hint given. Perhaps he should have waited by the doorway?

Bill turned to do exactly that when someone stumbled into him, nearly knocking him flat.

"Whoa, there," he exclaimed straightening himself and the ever-clumsy Tonks, using his hands to steady the young woman.

Tonks, who was sporting lavender eyes and ramrod straight hair of a startling cerulean color, flushed deeply as she got her bearings and stepped away slightly. "Sorry, Billy," she said sheepishly, grinning easily as ever. "Tripped over the carpet. Gets me every bloody time I round the corner."

Bill frowned for a moment, trying to give that disapproving look his mother was fond of, but found himself smiling back. It was hard not to with Tonks being such a goof. "I've told you a million times not to call me Billy. It's Bill, _Bill_ – Tonks."

"I can't help it, Billy. That's just what I call you," she shrugged carelessly with a wicked gleam in her eyes, obviously enjoying his annoyance. But 'Billy,' honestly! He hadn't been Billy since he was seven years old.

"Watch it, _Nymphadora_."

Tonks glared at him, grumbling slightly. "So, anyway Billy – _Bill_. Whatcha doin' here so early? You wouldn't happen to be going to a meeting, now would you?" She said the last part pseudo-carelessly, but was obviously watching his reaction to the words.

Bill's eyes furrowed for a moment before he caught on. "Oh. _Oh. _You too?"

"Yup."

Bill couldn't have been more relieved. At least he wasn't going to be bumbling around like a fool on his own. "You wouldn't have any idea where the hell we're supposed to meet, would you?"

She shrugged her shoulders once more. "No. My letter didn't say anything. A bit short on the details, it was."

So, back to square one really. But at least he wasn't alone in his confusion this time. "Come on," He muttered. "Let's see if we can find anyone upstairs."

Bill turned, not looking to see if she was following (he already knew because she stumbled into a chair on her way out) and walked through the foyer. When he began to travel up the stairs, he heard Tonks grouse something about 'stupid wooden stools.' It took him a moment to realize that someone was going down the stairs and he slowly brought himself to a stop, ready to step aside. His eyebrows rose slightly when he saw the person was Severus Snape, whose dark gaze took in him and Tonks for a moment with an unreadable expression.

After a pregnant, awkward pause the man said, "Weasley, Tonks, we've been waiting for you. Follow me."

Bill nodded slightly, looking at the older man's back speculatively. He really didn't know Snape too well; not having been taught by him in school like his other brothers had. As a matter of fact, they weren't that far apart in age – the dark man was probably no more than ten years older than himself. But he'd heard the horror stories from his siblings; apparently Snape was the Potion's professor from hell – biased, abrasive, sarcastic, just a complete bastard. (3)

And while Bill hadn't seen much to contest any of these claims – he'd witnessed the man's acerbic tongue in action plenty of times – there was something oddly intriguing about Severus Snape. While the man might not be able to win any contests with his personality or looks, he was perhaps the most important member of the Order. Oh, they each did their part, but without Snape as an informant they would be in the proverbial dark. There would be no way to prevent the Dark Lord's 'little' plans – hell; they wouldn't have even known Voldemort was going to go after the prophecy if it hadn't been for Snape! And that would have been a complete disaster, more than it had already been.

Ironically enough, while Snape was an invaluable member of the Order of the Phoenix, he was also the most mistrusted. Most thought that Snape had to be a bit twisted himself to be so close to the Dark Lord all the time, and were waiting for him to show his 'true colors.' After all, everyone knew that he'd gotten that mark on his arm voluntarily and that Snape was considered a high ranking Death Eater. And Snape's attitude didn't reassure anyone of his loyalty to the Light. But Bill thought the man to be rather brave, spying on one of the most powerful Dark Wizards to have ever lived. Not to mention remarkably cunning to have done it for such a long time without rousing suspicion.

But what intrigued Bill the most about Severus Snape was that small, nearly unnoticeable spark of magic that surrounded him at all times. It was true that Snape was an extremely powerful wizard, but the aura Bill felt coming off of him had nothing to do with magical power. And Bill was more than exceptionally adept at noticing the difference between such things, at one time being the top curse-breaker employed at Gringotts Bank. His background was the only thing that caused him to notice the aura as it was, it being very skillfully hidden. The shimmer was something oddly familiar to Bill. The spell or enchantment had the particular feel of a glamour, so that meant Snape was hiding something. What that was remained to be seen, but the red-head's curiosity wouldn't rest until –

Bill was snapped out of his thoughts when they reached a door not too far down the hall from the second landing. Snape opened the door and ushered them in quietly before closing it after himself. The room was small, but there was more than enough room for the amount of people in it. Besides him and Tonks, there was Harry Potter and Remus Lupin.

Well. Things had suddenly got a million times more interesting.

**xXxXxXx**

Severus came to a stop in front of the door, closing it silently behind him. He took a moment to read the people before him by categorizing their expressions, hoping to catch insight into what tactics would work best.

Nymphadora Tonks, who was rubbing her arm from hitting it on the doorway, was frowning. That probably had much to do with the fact that she was unbelievably inept and couldn't go through an hour without somehow damaging herself. However, besides her ungainliness, Nymphadora happened to be a remarkably competent Auror with a surprising unbiased view of the world. It was just as well – she wouldn't have been selected otherwise. Her hair was an ungodly shade of blue, although it was rather straight than in the spikes she usually favored. It was commonly known that a _Metamorphmagus' appearance was often ruled by their emotion. Ny_mphadora's state alluded that she was feeling unusually calm and clear-headed today; that would work to his advantage. Severus grimaced and reminded himself to call her Tonks when addressing her today. While he usually wouldn't give a damn about offending her (it wasn't his problem her mother had been sniffing potions fumes when she came up with _that_ name), it would be detrimental to anger her. So, Tonks it was.

His eyes drifted over to Bill Weasley. The red-headed man was, once _again_, staring at him with thinly veiled interest. Severus bit back a growl and found himself wanting to shift slightly under the intense gaze, to his disgust. For some unidentifiable reason, Weasley's eyes were always drawn to him when they were in a room together – it made him highly uncomfortable, to say the least. Severus was used to others staring at him in mistrust, aversion, or even hatred, but it unsettled him that Weasley's – Bill's – gaze contained none of these, only that odd interest.

It bothered him so much, in fact, that if it wasn't for the fact that Bill was an extraordinary curse-breaker, then the man wouldn't have been chosen. Then there was that fact that he was the most level-headed of the Weasleys and it wouldn't hurt to have someone that could sooth the volatile family once Draco was safely retrieved. He was also one of two Weasleys to have never gone to school with a Malfoy. And that counted for plenty as well.

His breath caught in his throat slightly as Weasley locked eyes with his for a moment, the other man's hazel gaze seeming oddly wide and guileless. The man flushed for a moment, obviously acknowledging that he'd been caught staring. Then he did something shocking – Bill's eyes sparkled for a moment and he gave Severus an easy grin, shrugging his shoulders slightly. Severus was so startled at the oddly apologetic and friendly gesture that he broke gazes with the other man, inordinately relieved when his eyes settled on Remus Lupin.

Lupin's uncomfortably golden eyes were contemplative and slightly soft, but that was hardly unusual. The wolf had rarely lost that dreamy quality to his eyes ever since Black had returned from the dead. Pity, that. But Lupin's happiness at Black's return could come to his advantage, since manipulating a love-struck fool was much easier than a level-headed individual. The werewolf wasn't his favorite person – and if that wasn't the understatement of the century he didn't know what was – but he held a substantial amount of power in the Order. People looked to Lupin as a voice of reason, someone who was logical and fair without fault. Severus almost didn't contain his snort. If Lupin was behind something, people would be less likely to break out with the pitchforks and torches, so to speak.

And Lupin, who understood the Dark better than he'd like to admit, would be more amendable to forgive Draco's past behavior in light of his recent actions. _Yes, Lupin is all about redemption_, he thought sardonically, barely able to keep his lip from curling.

And when his eyes roved to the last person, Severus lost the battle of the curling lip.

Potter.

He'd rather if the boy wasn't here at all, but Albus insisted that it would be better to keep Potter informed as Severus had promised. He was beginning to regret that promise. He couldn't contest, however, that it would be better to keep an eye on Potter and make sure he didn't do something stupid. Although how Severus was supposed to break the habit of a lifetime, he didn't know.

There was also the added bonus of Potter being able to lend Severus some credibility, due to his vision. Staring at Potter a bit more intensely than he needed to, Severus couldn't help but notice that the boy was looking worn and tired – he wondered briefly if he'd had any more visions. Potter was also moving around rather oddly, his movements jerky and nervous as he if were hiding something. Which he probably was, considering Potter's pathetic attempts to wave off Lupin's looks of concern. Severus couldn't contain his snort. _Gryffindors_.

It took him a moment to realize that his sound of disgust had broken the silence in the room and everyone was looking at him expectantly. It seemed like the past couple of weeks had relied plenty on his ability to put on a good performance. Severus was coming to think of himself as quite the actor.

"You are all probably wondering what you're doing here," Severus drawled out. It was better to state the obvious in lieu of the group he was addressing. If his sentences got too complicated, their pea brains would get overloaded.

They all nodded slowly. All except for Potter, that is. He already had an inkling about the meetings topic – or at least, he would if his brain functioned properly. Which was debatable.

"After careful consideration amongst myself and Dumbledore, everyone here today, excluding Mr. Potter," Severus spared Potter a glance, whom actually looked a bit outraged. "have been chosen to participate in a raid which would tentatively take place in four days. Before I release any more information, I will express that the mission will be extremely perilous to those involved. There is no guarantee that any of you, should you agree to participate, will come back alive. To anyone who does not feel that they are willing to take the risk, I advise you leave now."

No one moved. He hadn't expected them to, really; he was dealing with Gryffindors, after all. Well, Gryffindors and Hufflepuff. Both houses were too idiotic to understand that dangerous situations were typically avoided by those of at least average intelligence. If he wasn't imagining things, Weasley and Tonks had perked up after hearing they might not come back alive.

Severus decided to continue after a small pause. "The mission's objectives are very simple to understand: we are to infiltrate a Death Eater stronghold and remove a prisoner from the depths of it. Obviously, there are several complications to consider before attempting such a goal. There will be more time to talk of those later. The Death Eater stronghold is Malfoy Manor – and anyone with half a brain should have realized by now exactly who we are going to rescue." Severus paused once more, waiting for someone to ask the inevitable question.

He didn't have to wait long. "I don't get it. If we're going to Malfoy Manor, then that means we must be going to get that recruit as far as I can tell. But if that's the case, then why all the secrecy? _Everyone_ knows about that! That's all we've been talking about for the past couple of days, anyway. Why isn't everyone else being let in on this?"

Snape opened his mouth to answer Tonks' question when the werewolf asked, "And why is Harry here? He's not an official member of the Order and you've already said that he wasn't going to be in the raid."

Great. So now the wolf was protecting his cub. "Potter is here under Dumbledore's orders. That should be enough for you, Lupin," Severus bit out shortly, before addressing Tonks once more. Potter, mercifully, remained silent.

"Every one else has not been told the full truth about this mission, nor the identity of the recruit. If they were to be told at this very moment, some members would be reluctant to go through the trouble. That is not something that can be allowed to happen."

It was Weasley who spoke next. "But how could the recruit's identity affect his rescue? He's being tortured for trying to save that muggle girl. What's his name got to do with that?" Severus took a moment to congratulate himself – Bill Weasley had been a perfect choice.

"Because it's Malfoy," someone spoke from the left side of the room. Severus nearly closed his eyes and groaned – Potter, the numbskull! What did he think he was doing, blurting his godson's identity like that?

Severus glanced around a moment, looking for the damage. Everyone looked a bit shell-shocked; that, he could deal with. At the very least, no one was yelling belligerently about traitors and traps.

"Lucius Malfoy," Tonks exclaimed, flabbergasted.

"No, of course not! Draco Malfoy, his son." Gods, did anyone in this godforsaken Order have a mediocre of intelligence? Lucius had been a Death Eater long before Tonks had gotten her wand – he was no new recruit, to say the least. Severus wondered when it became acceptable to speak before thinking.

"Oh," the young woman said with comprehension. "Oh! This could be really bad, Snape. They would never agree to rescue him – not if they knew."

"I'm not following," Weasley murmured quietly, glancing between Tonks and Severus in confusion. "Just because the boy's a Malfoy shouldn't mean anything. The Order would understand that – I'm positive of it."

Just as Severus was about to give Weasley the same speech he'd given Potter not long ago, Tonks stepped in. Surprisingly enough.

"But it would matter, Billy. It shouldn't – but people just don't think the way you do," She paused for a moment, chewing on her lip thoughtfully. Her hair darkened a shade. "You're a Weasley, so you're family's always been considered Light. You wouldn't know. See, me dad's a Muggle-born, but my mum's a Black – and, well, it's harder than you would think. Since my mum married da, they reckon that she's, yanno, safe or whatever. For the most part, at least. They don't really expect her to start throwing Unforgivables all about the place, but they know who my aunt is. Bellatrix Lestrange. Everyone knows what her and her husband did to the Longbottoms. So, when I first applied into the Academy to become an Auror I was denied. Said they were full – didn't have any room."

She snorted. "As if. So I go to the Ministry, wanting to find out why my application didn't go through and they told me 'We don't want Lestrange's niece hanging around.' Just because I'd put my mother down as 'Andromeda Tonks nee Black.' And all I'd ever wanted to be was an Auror – went through all that Potions just to be qualified," Tonks glanced at Severus, eyes twinkling for a moment. Insolent brat. "And here they were telling me I couldn't even get into the program because me mum's got Dark Wizards in her family. So, I nagged and nagged until they finally let me in – Kingsley was the only one who wanted to give me a chance – and I had to work twice as hard as everyone else just to prove I belonged there. But the fact that I was a Metamorphmagus caused Mad-Eye to take a shine to me, and everyone pretty much left me alone after that. But, what I'm trying to say is, people hear the name Malfoy or Black or Lestrange or Carrow and they automatically believe the worst. If Snape tells them that it's Draco _Malfoy_ they're about the rescue, they'll say it's all a trap and accuse him of being a traitor." By the end of her speech, Tonks' hair was a very dark, midnight blue.

Well. It seems like Nymphadora wasn't such a terrible choice, either.

Weasley still looked as if he wanted to protest, but then Lupin spoke up. "I wish it were an exaggeration, but people can be frightfully prejudiced when they want to be. I haven't been able to hold a job since I was outted as a werewolf."

"Well, I'm telling you that no one in my family is so selfish as to let the boy die because of a little family grudge," Bill pointed out stubbornly, still holding on to his naïve beliefs.

Severus felt as if it was truly time for him to step in. "And no one's saying that they wouldn't see reason. _Eventually_. But does Draco need to be rescued now, or in a couple of weeks when everyone in the Order has battled it out? We don't have the time it would take for Albus to restore order – Draco doesn't have that long. He will be brought here afterwards, so everyone will be informed after the mission. But we can't risk that now. Surely you must understand that, Weasley."

Bill frowned deeply and for a moment Severus thought he would argue his point. To his surprise, however, the red-head nodded slowly. "I do see your point," the man conceded. He obviously couldn't contest that his relatives were rather blockheaded. "I just don't understand how we're going to pull this off with only four people."

Severus was near ecstatic to see Lupin and Tonks nod as well. They were actually considering themselves part of the mission!

"Albus has a plan," Severus started carefully. "That is, if everyone is willing to play their part in the rescue."

He was satisfied to see agreement on every face. Severus had to admit that this was much easier than he thought it'd be – the first true step had been taken to getting Draco away from that monster. He only prayed they were not too late.

**TBC **

1. Bill Weasley – Okay, I've done my bit of research on William. As far as I can find, his birthday is November 29, 1970. Since Voldemort first fell in 1981 that means Bill was around to experience some of the First War. While Harry and Ron might not know what to expect during the Second War, Bill should have more of an idea.

2. This awesome little quote is by John Donne.

3. Let's just pretend that Bill wasn't taught by Severus, although the timeline would suggest otherwise. It makes a couple of things I'm planning on doing later way easier. In this world, Snape started teaching in 1989-ish, just a couple of years before Harry got there.


	12. Discovering the Upside

**Author**: Angeleus

**Fandom**: Harry Potter

**Rating**: R (Adult)

**Genre**: Romance, Drama, Angst, H/C

**Pairing**: Harry/Draco

**Warnings**: Language, Anal, Explicit Torture, Disturbing imagery.

**Disclaimer**: In no way shape or form do I own any portion of the Harry Potter Universe. I am not making any profit from this fanfiction.

**Summary**: When Draco disobeys everything he's learned in a single action, he is made a prisoner in his own home. Can Harry and Severus save him, or will he be destroyed by an obsessive Dark Lord's plans? Can bonds of love and friendship triumph over ultimate evil? Harry/Draco, H/C, Tort, Lang, Anal

**Author's Note: **This chapter was a long time in coming. For that I'm sorry – I didn't mean to get so swamped with real life and college and changing majors and moving. Needless to say, I've been seriously busy. Sorry again. I got so much feedback from everyone with the last chapter – it felt so great to know that my readers appreciated the story. It makes me even more eager to write chapters as fast as I can hint, hint. Lol. I'm committing to making my updates as consistent as possible. I might not be able to write as often, but it should never be more than a month (at the most) between updates. Also, this chapter was especially difficult to write, so I apologize ahead of time for any confusion.

Thanks to my wonderful beta, **Vittani**, for fixing up this chapter on such short notice! Don't know what I would do without you!

This chapter is a bit short, but another one is coming shortly. Hope everyone enjoys the chapter – sorry for the wait!

**Chapter Twelve: **Discovering the Upside

Draco cringed, curling into a ball. The Dark Lord was enraged – more than enraged. And no matter how coy he acted, no matter how much he played the loyalty card, there was little he could do to stop that anger from raining down on him. All Draco could do was ride out the storm and wait for it to be over.

Literally.

Voldemort's ire had manifested into what must be a violent cloud of magical energy. While Draco could not see it, he could feel the harsh bite of it against his skin and hear the sounds of havoc the Dark Lord's magic was wreaking unchecked in the chambers. The blond found himself flinching reflexively at every crash or slam, waiting for something to hit _him_. Even though Draco had been through his fair share of pain already, while the Dark Lord attempted to get his way. After several rounds of the Cruciatus had not got Voldemort what he'd wanted, the monster began to use more damaging and depraved curses, spells that tore Draco's thin skin and gave the illusion of being on fire, leaving him bloody and with sympathetic pains that matched his real ones.

But Voldemort's sibilant hisses bespoke of malevolence and it frightened Draco more than he could say, not being able to see the Dark Lord's face.

There was nothing quite like being blind during a magical storm, he was finding out.

But he couldn't do what Voldemort asked of him, which was a blessing and a curse simultaneously. And no matter how much the Dark Lord hurt him, nothing could change that.

_Two Hours Earlier_

Draco froze, his thoughts fleeing as the sound of a door opening pierced through the silence. The familiar, dragging light steps were heard and he knew that the Dark Lord was once more in his presence.

A horrible thought nagged in the back of his mind, but as usual, the blond pushed it to even further recesses. It was the constant fear that drove him, the little voice that incessantly whispered _Will it be today? Now? Is the reprieve over? Will Voldemort finally do the things that are promised in every touch and gesture and stare that I can't see? Will he finally give into his sick desires and… and… _

It was too much, Draco thought as he fought a shiver. Far too much to think on without giving up, without depleting the stubbornness that kept him going.

It was too dangerous to be pondering such things now. Now was time to put on his little act – one that was as perfected as possible under the circumstances.

"My Lord?" Draco questioned softly, unwilling to let Voldemort know he was getting somewhat accustomed to his inability to see. It was much better for the Dark Lord to think he was more defenseless than he actually was. Hopefully this little deception would lead to his advantage one day.

A dark chuckle was his response and the Slytherin shivered in spite of himself. Was it pitiful to be frightened by such a small sound, or was it merely wise, considering who it was coming from?

The dragging footsteps came closer, and a small dip to the blonde's right alerted him to the other 'man's' presence. Draco tensed slightly, but still looked noticeably relaxed – at least, that was what he was aiming for. For all Draco knew, he looked like a frightened rodent ready to bolt at the slightest sound.

In other words, Wormtail.

"I have been watching, little Draco. Watching you and wondering what goes on in that pretty little head of yours," the red-eyed monster hissed in his familiar way. "If eyes are the windows to one's soul, then yours must be remarkably absent – or it may just be that pesky little blindness." An odd half-cackle, half-hiss accompanied this statement, and Draco wanted to bash the bastard's head in. If wishes were giant maces… "Nevertheless, I find it… difficult to read your intentions. A novel experience for your Lord, to say the least."

"I… apologize, my Lord. I can do nothing more than offer up my allegiance to your Lordship and hope my future actions –"

"Actually," The Dark Lord interrupted smoothly, "there is something that you could do to set my mind at ease." As usual, Voldemort's oddly slender and skeletal hands rose unerringly to Draco's flaxen locks, fingering them loosely.

Draco froze, several terrible options looming before him. What would Voldemort make him do? Would he be fed Veritaserum, be given the Dark Mark, have to consent to an Unbreakable bond (gods, anything but that), have his mind ripped apart by Occlumency –

"Yes, my Lord?"

"It's very simple, really," the monster said mildly. "And relatively painless. So long as you consent to it, of course. I would abhor injuring such an exquisite creature as yourself, but your willingness to allow me in will determine your state."

Ah, crap. What the hell was the bastard planning now? 'Allow me in,' allow him in _where_? _Would today be the day – _No. Not that. Never – he would die first.

But how would Severus react to rescuing a corpse? Could he allow the man to risk his life for naught, not to mention the others that would try to save him? Draco already knew the answers to all of those questions so there was nothing to say but, "I consent," and hope that he hadn't just give the Dark Lord permission to rape him.

Not that doing so would prove his loyalty, but gods only knew the warped ways Voldemort's mind works in.

"I – I consent, my Lord."

There was a rustling movement close to him, and there was a sudden building pressure behind his eyes – was the Dark Lord restoring his vision? Was he removing it permanently? The pressure was increasing with every pulse until he couldn't take the relentless battering against his skull.

"Stop," Draco gasped out without even meaning to, unable to take this new torture.

The pressure ceased a couple of moments later, and Draco heard a frustrated hiss somewhere above him. What in the hell had that been? It hadn't felt like a spell, but something had obviously happened. Something that had displeased the Dark Lord.

A harsh hand gripped his chin, pulling his face upwards. "Naughty little Dragon, lying to me." Draco's insides froze, icy fear climbing up his throat. The Dark Lord knew he was lying – but about what? The clammy hand squeezed his jaw tighter, so tight that he could do nothing but shake his head in negation to whatever Voldemort was accusing him of. "You promised to let me in and yet your shields strengthen when I sought a way into your pretty mind..."

_Occlumency_, a distant part of himself informed him with alarm. He'd conveniently forgotten that the Dark was amongst the strongest Legilimens in the world. _But what does he mean by shields, I don't have any shields. I've never been taught how... _Another hand went to grip his shoulder, inhuman strength in the thin limbs pushing him backwards into what felt like a stone wall.

Pain flared in his right shoulder, and he bit into his lip to suppress the cry. No, he wouldn't give the bastard the satisfaction of his screams. His head spun for a moment; perhaps even more disorienting because of his blindness and the now familiar pressing sensation over took him.

_No!_ Panicking slightly, Draco struggled against the Dark Lord's grip, forgetting all pretenses of compliance. There was no way he could allow the monster to see the deceit lying in his mind; he would be dead for sure. Whatever perverse desire the other 'man' felt for him wouldn't matter once his true intentions became apparent. He could only thank the gods for whatever was currently keeping his mind free of invasion – this shield that was protecting him couldn't waver. _I just… have to hold him off. _

The battering against his mind became more violent, similar to a sharpened knife attempted to pierce steel.

It felt just as painful.

Eyes clenched shut, tears leaking out of the edges of them, Draco bit his tongue until he tasted blood. If the shield in his mind was metal wall, it was beginning to dent against the ruthless onslaught of strength. It was caving, the blond could feel it. Curling in on itself like paper in flames.

Oh gods, it hurt.

"_Let. Me. In._" The bastard growled, but Draco had no such intention.

A second later, the invading presence seemed to retreat in his head and Draco fell limp in Voldemort's cold clutches. He could feel sweat trickling down his brow, falling into his useless eyes and stinging them. It took Draco a moment to get a hold on his senses and realize what had just occurred.

Voldemort, merely a hairsbreadth away from breaking the 'barrier' in his mind, had suddenly withdrawn. That hardly made sense, now did it? Unless… unless he was gathering all of his strength for one final attack.

_No…_he thought desperately. _I can't take anymore. He'll see… he'll see everything. Oh gods, I'm about to die. _

Not a moment later the air around him began to thicken and an unnatural wind picked up small strands of his hair. This was the mark of powerful magic, magic that Draco had no means to defend against. Caring no longer for pretense in the slightest, he fought even more ferociously against the hands that held him immobile. In that moment, he cared for nothing except for making his last moments be those of dignity. He didn't want to die like a small bird trapped in a snare… no he wanted to show the defiance that boiled and simmered under his skin.

Draco wanted to say all the things he'd kept at bay, all the clever insults that he'd hidden in the recesses of his mind. All he could seem to come up with was three words. Three words that would anger the Dark Lord more than any other insult his mind could cook up.

"You half-blood _Bastard_." The breezed stuttered and stopped, the hands holding him dropped away in shock and Draco wished he could see the look on Voldemort's face. It would probably be worth all the pain he'd be going through in a moment.

Now there was the sound of roaring, a sound that couldn't be made by human tongues – the sound of manifesting Dark magic. Perhaps he would be obliterated instantly; that was the best he could as for really.

That would be Draco's last coherent thought for a while.

The Dark Lord, roaring in rage along with his magic, slammed into Draco's mind with the force of a thousand Bludgers, completing demolishing the once strong shield. An overflowing amount of shallow thoughts seemed to brush against the invading conscious, inviting Voldemort to read them. Draco, hanging to consciousness by a string, was powerless to stop him.

"_Can' take anymore of this…"_

"_So tired…can't go to sleep, mustn't…"_

"_IT HURTS…"_

"_Leave me alone!"_

"_HURTS…"_

"_I'll never stop fighting… I can't."_

"_I will give in… just make it stop!"_

"_No, no, no, no, no, no! This isn't happening…"_

The Dark Lord seemed to brush these petty thought aside, hardly listening to Draco's anguish until…

"_He can't see." _Voldemort viciously grabbed on to this small thought, following it to deeper secrets. _"He can't, he can't… he won't see."_

"_I will sssee…ssshow it to me," _a foreign thought demanded, hissing after nearly every word. _"Ssshow me little one."_

"_No, no… you can't see… can't let him know."_

Voldemort relentlessly followed the trail of this small string of thoughts, ripping past feeble barriers and traveling deeper into the blonde's mind. The blonde was slumped, features slack and yet somehow pained as he fought a brutal rape that was different from the one he'd feared.

Perhaps it was even worse.

"'_I have to hold on…he said to hold on…" _

"_Who – who isss the traitor? Tell me and the pain will ssstop…"_

An image was appearing in Draco's mind, but he ruthlessly stomped it out, renewed vigor giving him strength. He couldn't allow the Dark Lord to know… not that.

No one would die because of him. Not anyone else. His consciousness was suddenly bombarded with a plethora of images. Golden eyes. Dark hair. Cackling Laughter. Trees.

"_Avada Kedavra." A woman falling, two screams of rage…_

"'_They didn't touch me, but it h-hurt." Large golden eyes looking at him trustingly… but she was dead… 'All my fault.'_

"_I-I may be a blood traitor, but at least I d-don't take my queues f-from a psychotic despot who got defeated by an o-one year old."_

He felt the Voldemort's rage at the comment as a growl of anger seemed to make his head vibrate uncomfortably. Still the monster held on to the dangerous little thought that would lead him to the secrets Draco guarded.

A few moments, the images stopped and Voldemort began to follow the little thought once more. Quickly the Dark Lord's presence sifted through his mind, clumsy and heavy handed as it tore through flimsy barriers. Along with each tear was a sharp pain that reverberated in his skull; the tears were sliding down the side of his face to trickle near his ears, but Draco was hardly in a position to care.

Every conscious part of him knew that the Dark Lord had to be stopped before he reached his destination, stopped before – _do not think his name_ – was revealed as a traitor. No one else could die because of his weakness…

But Draco wasn't sure how much longer he could hold on. _Hold on, hold on… you must!_

Voldemort was traveling deep and deeper, ravaging every inch of Draco's mind he could get a handle on, single-mindedly looking for what the blonde protected at all costs.

The monster was deep in his mind now, so far inside and he kept going farther and farther and Draco couldn't keep his secrets anymore – they would all coming pouring out – and he couldn't stop fighting helplessly against the intrusion and it hurt, oh gods it would never stop, he couldn't take it any more and he could feel his sanity snapping and Voldemort had finally found the place where he kept all his secrets and he was almost there and his mind was _bleeding_ –

Then, something that was felt more than heard, a massive wall of power slammed within his mind, cutting off the Dark Lord's vile tendrils just as he was about just as they were about to discover who the 'traitor' was. The impenetrable shield was back, possibly stronger than it had been before. And Voldemort couldn't do a thing about it.

The situation had quickly deteriorated from there. The Dark Lord wasn't used to being denied anything and had acted like a typical spoilt child – first feeling around the barrier, obviously unable to believe that he'd been stopped. He poked and prodded and finally _slammed _into the wall – to which the wall slammed back.

Hard.

Reeling and confused Voldemort had been forced to retreat from Draco's mind, this fact only making him angrier. And an angry Dark Lord equated to lots of curses and pain for Draco.

Every once and a while, after a particularly debilitating hex, Voldemort would attempt to access his mind once more – obviously he thought pain was the key to getting around Draco's defenses. It wasn't working.

Thank the gods for small mercies.

And as the Dark Lord became progressively crueler, Draco felt more secure than he'd been since his imprisonment had started. After that final ejection from his mind, Draco got a glimpse of what the Dark Lord was thinking.

And it had absolutely nothing to do with this death.

No, the bastard thought Draco would somehow be able to win this war for him and didn't want to part with his newfound weapon. The blond thought he was delusional at best, but so long as Voldemort thought he was useful, his survival was a given.

Panting, recovering from his latest bout of the well-loved Cruciatus Curse, a long forgotten smirk found its way onto Draco's bleeding mouth.

Yes, things were finally looking up.

**xXxXxXx**

Things were finally looking up for Severus Snape, and inadvertently, for his godson Draco.

The little rag-tag team Albus had forced him to assemble was actually working out quite well, thought he's never say such things outside of the recesses of his mind. The headmaster's ridiculous 'suggestion' that had been forced on him long ago wasn't looking so horrific either.

Especially considering the Dark Lord wanted him to make the _Gigno Latito_. In theory, the potion was designed to amplify minor magical strengths tenfold and bring them to the forefront, or even force out talents long gone from lines with creatures blood. Any wizard or witch who drank of the potion would be infused with that the powers that could have been natural to them and magnified to the point that the individual would be near demigod status.

This is all in theory, of course.

In reality, the potion was nothing more than the delusion theory of a Mongolian wizard whose name had been long forgotten. A scroll, half-eaten away by time gave birth to the recipe for the potion, and had intrigued Dark Wizards for centuries. Voldemort was merely the latest of a long line of so-called 'lords' seeking the power that such a potion would bring. No one had ever brewed the potion successfully, so there was little evidence that it would indeed work.

All that was known about it was that it managed to ensnare every Potion Master in its grips, killing them after a failed attempt to make the blasted thing. Obviously, the entire mess was an anathema, one that Severus had no desire to get caught up in. He had enough problems without having an age-old curse after his hide.

Regardless, it seemed that he would be forced to do what the headmaster had asked of him so long ago and finally admit that it was time.

Time to release himself from his duties as Order spy, at least.

For so long, his status as a double agent had defined him, shaping his cynicism and cruelty to others because they wouldn't understand – _couldn't _understand – what he was sacrificing to keep their worthless hides intact. And that was perfectly acceptable, because he didn't pine for their respect or admiration so long as he could fight for something worth it all, something redeemable for all of his past mistakes and not just be _worthless_ like his father had always claimed he was –

Severus took a deep breath, refusing to bait himself by thoughts of that bastard.

No – but now his responsibilities as spy were coming to an end. It was best to accept this; besides, the fact that he'd have an active role in Draco's rescue was more than satisfactory.

The whole situation made him feel particularly… bloodthirsty. A murderous expression lit his hawkish features, making him look particularly devilish.

Glancing to the side, however, made his sadistic mirth deflate almost instantly. That annoying bugger, Weasley, was staring at him _again_. Even worse, he was getting bolder and bolder, not even caring that Severus caught him looking at him curiously. For Draco's sake he would hold his tongue. For now. As soon as his godson was in safe hands, the red-headed man would be the recipient of a very pleasant curse that caused him to become cross-eyed every time he looked in Severus' general direction. That would teach the man against having those annoyingly wandering eyes.

Weasley, Tonks, and Lupin were hunched over a large map of the Malfoy Manor and its surrounding land. The map was a quite ingenious thing, Severus had to acknowledge. It was what muggles would call 3-D, showing the various levels of the manor; even more interesting were the dots that displayed where each individual was located in the property. He wondered were Albus had gotten the idea from. And why Lupin seemed so familiar with the design.

Damn Marauders.

He moved a bit closer so that he could here their conversation.

"… really think that going through the back would be wise. Isn't that a bit clichéd? Besides, it's guarded well enough to give us a spot of trouble," Tonks spoke up doubtfully.

"You're right about the defenses," Weasley said. "But it seems to be the least guarded out of all the entrances ways – there only seems to be three DE's guarding it at time. It would be our best bet."

"Our best bet of getting in, but also the most dangerous," the werewolf murmured. "We'd have to go through the Dead Frost Forest to reach it without being seen. That's the reason why it's not heavily guarded. The forest is swarming with dangerous creatures – it's nearly impossible to get through. But it's still our best option so far… what do you think, Severus?"

The dark-haired man resisted the urge to glare at the other man. Just because they'd been colleagues out of some ironic twist of fate for a year didn't give him the right to call him 'Severus.'

"Going through the forest will be perilous, but it is the only way to get into the manor relatively undetected. If you can't handle that –"

"Then we shouldn't be here, yes we've heard the speech already. You think you'll get rid of me so easily, eh?" Weasley had the nerve to actually _grin_ at him cheekily after making the comment.

Severus bristled, snapping back before he could stop himself. "And you'll keep hearing it until I'm confident you understand the severity of situation and that you don't expect to charge in, waving a sword around haphazardly in usual Gryffindor fashion until you hit something. This is a retrieval mission, not a chance to get bragging rights."

There was silence for a moment.

"I don't know how to use a sword," Bill said breezily.

The Slytherin narrowed his eyes.

"Your swordsmanship is likely to be equal to your skill with a wand, then," Severus hissed out nastily.

The bastard was not even fazed. "I guess it depends on what sort of skills you're talking about, then, _Severus_."

At the comment Lupin raised in head in shock, turning to look at Weasley with an oddly calculating expression. Severus looked at them suspiciously, not quite understanding that last barb.

_If that's his idea of an insult, it needs a bit of work_, Severus thought as he threw the man a cursory sneer and turned away.

It would take Severus months to realize what Bill was actually hinting at with that remark.

**TBC**


	13. Eavesdropping and HearttoHearts

**Author**: Angeleus

**Fandom**: Harry Potter

**Rating**: R (Adult)

**Genre**: Romance, Drama, Angst, H/C

**Pairing**: Harry/Draco

**Warnings**: Language, Anal, Explicit Torture, Disturbing imagery.

**Disclaimer**: In no way, shape or form do I own any portion of the Harry Potter Universe. I am not making any profit from this fanfiction.

**Summary**: When Draco disobeys everything he's learned in a single action, he is made a prisoner in his own home. Can Harry and Severus save him, or will he be destroyed by an obsessive Dark Lord's plans? Can bonds of love and friendship triumph over ultimate evil? Harry/Draco, H/C, Tort, Lang, Anal

**Author's Note: **Okay, so I promised that I would update much quicker – and I kept my word. ; )

Thanks to my always wonderful beta, **Vittani**, for editing this chapter!

**Chapter Thirteen**: Eavesdropping and Heart-to-Hearts

Things were going pretty well for Sirius Black. He was finally, blessedly, amazingly, off of bed rest. _And it was about bloody time! _Of course, his magic was still running a bit low so he wasn't being put on active duty as of yet. But at least he could have a decent pace around his room without anyone getting all tetchy, though.

Sirius wandered out of his room for the first time it what seemed like _ages_, intent on finding his wayward godson. Harry hadn't been up to visit him in days, so he figured the boy must be wallowing in _something_ – it was just Harry's nature. The black-haired boy had seemed more than a little preoccupied and bothered the last couple of times Sirius had seen him. That didn't bode well. A glum Harry was vastly different from any other moody teen. While other teens were only worried about hiding their latest zit, Harry was worried about a Dark Lord who just happened to have some sort of twisted connection with him.

When Harry was worried about something, it could mean disaster for the Wizarding World.

But Sirius was going to do what he was supposed to do for once, and protect his godson. He would just have to find out what was going on and snap Harry out of his funk. Even if he had to drag him out of it kicking and screaming.

Sirius reached Harry's door, knocking as a curtsey and waiting a few moments before turning the knob. He knew the kinds of things that teenage boys tended to do in their room when no one was around and he didn't want to see his godson with his hands down his pants.

Although it would be fun to tease him about it. He could call him Handsy Harry, the Wanking Wonder. Sirius snickered at the thought, grey eyes glimmering with good humor.

He opened the door slowly (just in case Harry _was _doing something like that and just hadn't heard the knock) only to frown.

Window drapes shut tightly, the room was fairly dark. Which made sense, considering the fact that Harry was burrowed in the coverlet on the bed, fast asleep. Sirius knew that people tended to wake up a bit later that usual during summer, but it was past four! And Harry still had his pajamas on!

Well, Harry _was_ a sixteen year old boy. He would just leave his godson to his sleep. Sirius turned slightly, ready to leave the room when a worried thought occurred to him.

Was Harry ill, suffering from Voldemort's visions? He hadn't had one in ages, but that reprieve could only last for so long. Walking up to the bed, Sirius pulled the covers obscuring Harry's face away, checking the lightning bolt scar for any sign of inflammation. Sighing in relief when he saw that the curse scar seemed to be dormant, he put his palm flat on Harry's forehead to check for fever.

So he was a bit surprised when one brilliant green eye peeked at him tiredly.

"Oh, hey Harry."

"Sir'us," the boy mumbled groggily. "What're you doin'?"

"Well, making sure you weren't dead, for starters," he answered wryly. "And wondering why you're still asleep."

Harry yawned creakily, shoving the tangled covers away as he sat up, only to slump against his head board. "So now I can't have a lie-in," the teen asked grumpily, still staring at Sirius with half-asleep eyes.

"It's not that, I'm just a bit… worried. That's all."

"What're talking about," Harry asked looking a bit more awake. "Worried about what?"

Sirius gave Harry a look that suggested the answer was very obvious and he was stupid not to know it. "You, idiot."

"That's verbal abuse, you know," Harry informed him.

"Oh, put a sock in it," Sirius grumbled playfully, pushing Harry aside in order to get in his warm spot, lying down with a blissful sigh.

"Yes, Sirius, of course you can nearly push me out of my own bed and lay down in the covers after you disturb my sleep," Harry said dryly, rolling his eyes at his godfather's antics.

"Mmm," was the only response Harry got, to his disgruntlement.

"Hey! You better not be falling asleep, you lazy git!"

Sirius let out a very loud, obnoxiously fake snore.

Harry's eye's narrowed dangerously, before picking up a rumpled pillow and giving Sirius a sound hit on the head. "Did you come here for something besides lying in my bed?"

Pulling the pillow away from his face, Sirius rolled his eyes. "I already said I was coming to check on you because I was _worried_. You got selective hearing or something?"

Harry's countenance darkened slightly as he muttered a dejected, "Maybe." The boy continued to stare down at the bed spread, obviously finding it hard to look at Sirius for the moment.

Which was more than a bit worrying.

"Harry… what's wrong," Sirius asked tentatively.

"Nothing's –"

"I'd rather if you didn't lie," Sirius interjected smoothly, cutting the dark-haired teen off. He wasn't going to let Harry get out of this now. Besides, the kid was still a bit groggy and would probably let more slip that way.

And no, Sirius was not being Slytherin in any way. Or so he told himself.

"Something's been bothering you for a while now, and it's about time you faced it." Sirius was startled slightly when Harry gave a tiny, barely noticeable flinch at the words.

Uh-oh. This was bad.

"Sirius…" The boy paused for a long time, but the man knew better than to interrupt him this time. Harry was finally opening up a bit. "… I – it's just that, well… I might be. Fuck. I can't do this."

This was really bad. Harry rarely cursed.

"You can," Sirius said quietly, trying to sound encouraging. "Whatever it is, I promise not to judge." Another little flinch. "I want to help you, but I can't unless I know what's going on." He stared at Harry earnestly with bright eyes, using his best 'listening' face, the one that always used to work on James.

"If… if I asked you something, would you promise to answer it honestly," Harry asked carefully, almost as if he was afraid of what Sirius would say.

The man frowned. "Of course, Harry. You know I will."

"Okay." Harry breathed in deeply for a moment, then let his breath out in a 'whoosh.' "And promise you won't laugh."

"Oh for Merlin's sake Harry –" the man exclaimed.

"Promise," the boy said sternly.

Sirius looked at him incredulously before shaking his head. "Fine, I promise! Now will you finally ask me whatever it is that has got you all bent out of shape?"

Harry threw him a peeved look, before giving a shuddering sigh. "Okay. Well…"

"Well…" Sirius prompted a tad impatiently.

"Stop rushing me!"

Sirius put his arms up in the universal 'don't curse me' gesture for a second, then slowly let them drop. Harry was freaking killing him with all the suspense!

"Okay." _If that boy says 'okay' one more bloody time, I swear – _"When you and Remus first started… seeing one another, how old were you?"

Sirius blinked. He hadn't been expecting that. "Well, we got together 'round the summer after sixth year, so just about your age. Why?"

"A-And, who did… who did you tell," Harry asked a bit fearfully.

Sirius frowned again, honestly confused as to why Harry was asking him this and why it seemed to scare the boy so much. "Whoever the hell we wanted to, or whoever caught us snogging. Whatever came first. Harry, what's this about?"

"So… everyone was okay with it?"

"It was their problem if it was, wasn't it? Me and Remy are perfect for one another – at last least I always thought so. And anyone who had issues with that –" Sirius had just began to work himself up into a mini-rant when Harry interrupted him.

"No, not about that. I mean, was everyone okay with you two… about y'know?" Harry made an odd, hurried hand gesture after his question, obviously running a bit low on patience himself.

The man cocked one eye up. "I… am completely not following you, Har."

Harry, in that moment, looked completely and utterly miserable that I couldn't catch on to his little hint. Well, Harry sucked at giving hints.

"About b-being…" whatever else Harry said was merely mouthed weakly and Sirius was no expert at lip-reading.

"What, Harry?"

"…" That was a bit better, but it was still too low for Sirius to hear, even with his enhanced Animagus senses.

"If you want me to understand, you're going to have to speak up."

"A-a-abo-ut b-being," The poor kid was having such a hard time getting the words out; he was nearly choking on them. "g-g-ay."

Oh.

_Oh._ Didn't see that one coming.

"Is that what this is all about, Harry? Are you –"

"No!" the teen shouted out furiously, "I'm not! I-I just… I-I –"

"Cut the crap Harry. If you weren't a least a little bi-curious, then we wouldn't be having this conversation now." Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Sirius held out his hand. "Hold on a sec. Stop and catch your breath – you're breathing like you've run a marathon – and then ask me what you _really _want to know."

Blessedly, Harry actually listened to his advice. For all of two seconds.

"HowdoestheWizardingworldviewygays?" The words were so jumbled that it took Sirius a few seconds to decipher it in his head.

"No one really cares – there are a couple o'course who are all macho manly and think they have something to prove and Merlin knows that they're the biggest queers of all – but it's not a big deal. Muggles tend to be stupid about that kind of thing, though."

Harry looked stunned. So stunned, in fact, that Sirius had to smother a snicker. He had promised not to laugh, after all.

"No one… cares?" the boy asked weakly and Sirius wondered how long the poor kid had been dwelling on that.

"Course not. Why would they? It's not like anyone's gonna force them to switch teams and two guys can have kids just as well as anyone else –"

"I – I," the boy stuttered, flushing such a bright red that it almost looked painful. "S-Sirius! I can't believe you just said that! I'm trying to be serious here and you're just –"

Sirius ignored that. It was just too easy. "So am I. Guys can have babies, you know. It's not uncommon, although the birth's a bit difficult, or so I've heard –"

"Stop," Harry said faintly. "I get it. Don't go into details, please."

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. Sirius hated uncomfortable silences. But every time he opened his mouth to break it, he wasn't sure what to say. He really didn't think Harry would appreciate a, 'So you're queer. Wonder how that happened.' And that was all his brain could come up with.

He wished Remus was here.

They sat in that uncomfortable silence for a while longer before Harry spoke out tentatively. "So… no one would care if was gay? Hypothetically, of course," The boy added hastily.

"No one cares, Harry. I swear. I mean, Remus and I had problems, but it was nothing to do with that."

"And… if I came out, it wouldn't be a big deal?"

Sirius bit his lip thoughtfully at that. "Well… it would be a big deal, but not in the way you think. Being the boy-who-lived an' all, everyone wants to hook you up with their daughter. Now they'll know they've been going about it in the wrong way and start pushing their sons on you," Sirius answered truthfully. It was very similar to what most pureblood heirs, Sirius included, had to go through once reaching majority.

Harry groaned, flopping back onto his bed. "Great, just wonderful," he muttered sarcastically.

Another silence lapsed over them, albeit a more relaxed one. Harry was silent for so long that Sirius, who was laying on the bed himself, began to wonder if the boy had fallen asleep again when, "Sirius?"

"Yeah?"

"You were… joking about the male pregnancy thing. Right?"

Sirius couldn't help but snicker at the slightly panicked tone to Harry's voice. "No. Totally not joking about that one."

"Oh… god," was Harry's horrified response.

**xXxXxXx**

After Harry's little Sirius-induced revelation, the two continued to lazy about on the bed, speaking every minute or so. Sirius felt more than a little smug that he'd gotten to the bottom of his godson's problems and solved them. For once, Sirius actually felt like he was taking care of the teen – what he should have been doing the moment he escaped from Azkaban.

A knocked interrupted the light doze that Sirius had slipped into a moment before. He heard Harry call out, "Come in," but really couldn't be bothered to see who entered. It was probably Hermione or Ron, as they were the only ones at Headquarters, it being fairly empty today.

So he was surprised when he heard Remus' soft voice greeting Harry. _Remus… Mm, _Sirius thought, still slightly dozy.

Propping himself up on his elbows, Sirius was unable to suppress the smile that warmed his face at the sight of his lover. A lover who'd been mysteriously busy for the past week. Since this whole 'recruit' business started, he was seeing less and less of his lover

"Hey babe, what're you doing here?"

Remus sputtered for a moment, turning an attractive pink. "Don't call me that! Especially _in front of Harry_." The last part was hissed out in indignation, but Sirius couldn't be less bother by his lover's embarrassment. It wasn't worth it if it couldn't make the werewolf blush.

And Remus was so conservative; it was fun to ruffle his feathers, so to speak. "It's either babe or snuggle muffin, take your pick." Sirius shrugged dismissively after his little comment, pretending not to hear Harry's stifled laugh.

Remus rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Call me 'snuggle muffin' and I'll curse the mouth right off of your face."

"Promises, promises," Sirius said teasingly, aware that he was flirting with his 'boyfriend' in front of his godson, but hardly in a position to care. With particular flair, the dark-haired man patted the space next to him with emphasis, gesturing for Remus to sit.

Just to be a prick, the werewolf sat on the opposite side near Harry.

Sirius pouted. Remus didn't seem to care, the meanie.

"I went to look for you in your room, but you weren't there. I figured you would be where Harry was. Although it seems like you woke him up," Remus added disapprovingly, noting the boy's pajamas and messier-than-usual hair.

"Not my fault Harry's a lazy little bugger."

"Hey! I'm not lazy – I was up all night, res –" Remus elbowed Harry in a motion that was too purposeful to be accidental, cutting the boy off. The two exchanged a meaningful look, Harry looking the slightest bit sheepish.

What the hell? "What's going on?"

Remus gave him an innocent smile that would have melted him in any circumstance, but Sirius wasn't moved by it now. "Nothing, my arm twitched," Remus said smoothly. "Sorry Harry," the sandy-haired man added in afterthought.

Remus was _such _a bad liar.

"S'okay," Harry replied, obviously trying to pull off nonchalant.

Harry wasn't much better.

The animagus stared at the two suspiciously, wondering what secret Harry and Remus were hiding from him. Some Order business, no doubt. And damn it irked that they didn't trust him – both of them still saw him as a fool who would rush recklessly into battle.

That kind of hurt. A lot.

"What's going on," he repeated.

"You've gotten paranoid holed up in that room of yours, Siri. Nothing's going on. Really." Harry's eyes were so earnest that Sirius _almost_ believed him. Key word being almost.

He was not going to let this go. Not until he knew what his lover and godson knew that he didn't. Sirius tended to be like a dog with a bone… no pun intended.

"But –" In a move almost too swift to be seen, Remus crawled over Harry and directly into Sirius' lap. Immediately latching onto Sirius' lips, the werewolf bit his bottom lip lightly, swiping his tongue over the bitten lip slowly.

Remus knew that turned Sirius on like no other.

Hardly in control of himself, Sirius put a hand behind the werewolf's head and began to kiss his lover forcefully, seemingly doing his best to shove his tongue down the other man's throat. Sirius forgot everything he'd been doing up to that point, all of his suspicions, as one thought floated through his mind. '_Oh… fuck._'

Yanking Remus closer to him, Sirius wrapped the arm that wasn't holding the other man's head around the werewolf's waist. Remus made a small keening sound. Sirius groaned like a man in pain, though that was certain not the case. Harry tried to interrupt.

"Um. Sirius? Remus?" Unbeknownst to Sirius, Remus' amber eyes popped open at the teen's embarrassed words. He carefully tried to extract himself from Sirius' gripped. The other man was less than cooperative.

"Sirius," Remus mumbled in protest, finally tearing his lips from the dark-haired man's. "Let go."

"Don't wanna," Sirius whined, trying to capture Remus' lips once more, hardly worried that his godson was getting quite the show.

Remus poked him between the ribs. Hard. "Ow!"

While Sirius rubbed the sore spot on his stomach, Remus took the opportunity to escape from his lover's grabby clutches. When Sirius looked up, Remus was already off of the bed, across the room, halfway out the door, and so red that he looked as if he'd been boiled.

"Hey, hold up," Sirius exclaimed in protest, but the werewolf mumbled something about being late for something or other and hightailed it.

Glancing to the side, noticing that his godson seemed to be looking everywhere _but _in his general direction, Sirius nearly forgot what he'd been saying before the impromptu snog session. But not quite.

'_Good try Remi, but you're going to have to try a bit harder to get over on me,_' Sirius thought as he began to follow his lover.

Seeing the determined expression on Sirius face, Harry gulped. "Sirius…"

"See you later Harry," the man called as he nearly ran out of the door, going down the hall in search of his lover who was lying to him and a _cock tease_.

Remus, of course, was long gone. But the man's scent still lingered and Sirius transformed into Padfoot, sniffing out his lover's whereabouts with a single-minded intensity. So focused was he on is task that Padfoot didn't stop until his wet nose bumped against a door. He transformed back.

There were a number of privacy and silencing charms on the room, as well as a notice-me-not charm. As if that would stop him. This was his house by _blood_. No one could get away with doing anything he didn't know about. Publicly disowned or not, Sirius was not rejected from the bloodline – even Andromeda, with her marrying a Muggle, had not been magically disowned. There hadn't been a rejected kin for over five hundred years. It just – wasn't done in the Black family.

Even though their motto was 'Toujours pur,' power was valued far more than purity of blood. For every magically excluded family member – or blood reject – as they were more commonly known, the power of the line would decrease due to that person's exclusion. This was partially because of the power it took to forcibly kick someone out of their magical birthright (skills and powers attributed to certain bloodlines). Lines that had made a practice of blood rejecting were the families that were now producing squibs. While anti-muggle pureblood activists spread propaganda about Muggleborns causing squibs, it was really their own hasty actions that caused the power to diminish in their lines.

Blood rejecting was only done in the most extreme or dire circumstances. If an heir was disgracing the blood line (as Sirius had been accused of) then they were merely cut off from the family money and resources permanently, or until they 'came to their senses.' The Dark Lord had urged many purebloods to magically exclude dissenting family members but only the most fanatical (and stupid) actually did.

He'd always wondered why the Dark Lord would ask his Death Eaters to do such a thing. How could he want weaker followers? It made plenty of sense when he found out that the 'man' was a half-blood raised by Muggles. Only someone who was completely ignorant of lineage magic would demand that purebloods practice blood rejecting.

So, anyway. Because he was the true blood heir of the Black family, Grimmauld Place would obey him above all others – centuries of Dark Magic in his lineage had seen to that.

And usually Sirius wouldn't resort to doing this because of a silenced door, but Remus was in there and he had to know what his lover couldn't tell him…

Turning into his Animagus form silently, Sirius (now Padfoot once more) swiped deadly claws harshly on the rough bottom of his right paw. Turning his snout to the side and sniffing for intruders, Padfoot waited a moment before transforming back into Sirius. He held up his right paw – hand, he reminded himself as he shook off the psyche of his canine counterpart – which had four bleeding gashes in the palm.

Looking around once more to make sure that no one was around, Sirius sighed and rested his bleeding palm against the wooden door. A shock ran through him as he connected to his ancestral home. He quickly shut himself from most of its power, not wanting to be overwhelmed by the admittedly Dark presence now in the back of his mind.

_Show me_, he thought eyes closed as he rested his head against the door as well. _Show me what lies inside this room._

Though his eyes were closed, an image appeared in his mind's eye of the room, relatively small in comparison to most rooms in the manor. He saw his Remus, and he brightened, nearly losing control over the vision in his excitement. _It's a damn shame that he can still do that to me after all these year_, Sirius though ruefully as Remus ran a hand through his hair.

He felt the house's confusion at the statement, not understanding what it was asking of him. _That wasn't an order. _The confusion immediately calmed, ebbing away as the massive consciousness of the house receded slightly from his mind.

It was then that he noticed Remus wasn't alone in the room. He was talking to his cousin, Nymphie, and there was Bill Weasley and _Snape_?

What in the hell was Remus doing with Snape? He watched carefully as Remus turned and asked Snape – the greasy bastard – something, something Sirius couldn't hear. As a matter of fact, he couldn't hear a single thing coming from the room.

What – oh, of course. Ancestral homes were so bloody specific. _Allow me to here what is being said as well_, Sirius amended quickly, wanting to hear what Remus was saying. Immediately, sounded was given to the odd, and disturbing, conversation between the two men.

"… now I'm not sure if this can be done. Would it reject us just because of that? If that's the cause, then how are we going to even get in?"

"I'll be able to Side-Along. The wards will recognize me, and they won't necessarily understand that I'm bringing in others because they are a lax for me. Many potions require the use of human blood, nails, hair, bone, and flesh –"

_Ew_.

"You're going to Side-Along all of us," Bill interrupted, his expression confused.

"No, I plan to Side-Along everyone else and splinch you all over the British countryside," Snape snapped out like the disagreeable git he was.

Bill's eyes got rather wide. "Y-you are," he squeaked out.

"Of course not, you idiot," Snape bellowed, making the red-head jump.

"Oh… um, good joke. You, uh, almost got me there."

Snape shot Bill a particularly nasty look and began to open his mouth.

"Severus," Remus interrupted softly. _Severus! Now he's Severus?_ "Bill raises a valid point. Are you sure you can Side-Along three people? It's exhausting for most to do one at such a long distance let alone four –"

"I can handle it," Snape growled.

What in the hell was going on? It sounded like they were planning a raid, but why hadn't he heard of it? Why was there so much secrecy?

And how would Snape lead a raid without blowing his cover?

"But, why risk it? You could always make two trips," Tonks ventured in tentatively.

"Of course, why didn't I think of that," Severus mused sarcastically. "Oh yes, that's right. Because the Dark Lord might be curious as to why I felt the need to Apparate, Disapparate and Apparate back in all in the span of a few minutes! The Dark Lord may be out of his scaly mind, but he's not brainless… unlike some of the individuals here."

_What an arse! Snivellus needs to get that damn broomstick out of his a – _

Beat.

_Wait. The Dark Lord? Remus is going somewhere in the vicinity of Voldemort? Like hell he is_, Sirius thought furiously.

"I can handle it," Snape said softly, staring the other three down until they nodded reluctantly. "Do you honestly think I would risk my godson in such a manner?"

"I apologize," Remus said. _Bless his heart, he actually means it! _"We'll go along with what we've planned then? I think we're ready to get into Malfoy Manor."

_Malfoy Manor… as in where the recruit is being held! _Sirius froze as he remembered what Snape had just said. _His godson… is the recruit. Snape's godson – who is that? Who in their right mind would allow Snape to take guardianship of their child if something were to happen to them? Only a Death Eater…_

Malfoy Manor. Lucius Malfoy. His cousin, _Draco_ Malfoy.

Draco Malfoy – Harry's tormentor, a right prat. Slytherin. Pureblood extremist. A _Malfoy_.

Fucking hell.

"… in a day's time, we'll leave."

**TBC **

Next Chapter: The Rescue!


	14. The Raid, Pt 1

**Author**: Angeleus

**Fandom**: Harry Potter

**Rating**: R (Adult)

**Genre**: Romance, Drama, Angst, H/C

**Pairing**: Harry/Draco

**Warnings**: Language, Anal, Explicit Torture, Disturbing imagery.

**Disclaimer**: In no way, shape or form do I own any portion of the Harry Potter Universe. I am not making any profit from this fanfiction.

**Summary**: When Draco disobeys everything he's learned in a single action, he is made a prisoner in his own home. Can Harry and Severus save him, or will he be destroyed by an obsessive Dark Lord's plans? Can bonds of love and friendship triumph over ultimate evil? Harry/Draco, H/C, Tort, Lang, Anal

**Author's Note**: Okay, so this chapter is my longest one yet. Just think of it as a belated Christmas/New Years present, for the delay, I've been busy with school then it took me a long time to get this chapter right. I'm still not fully satisfied with it. I've been spending most of my time out of school developing this story, so I hope you all like the upcoming chapters. Originally, the rescue was going to be all in one chapter, but considering the rescue turned into a monster word count, I've decided to split them up. Don't worry, though. The rest is coming soon—you won't have to wait much longer. Also, I tried my hardest not to end with a terrible cliff-hanger, but I don't know if I succeeded, so I apologize in advance.

Thanks to my wonderful beta, **Vittani**, for looking over this past chapter. You are a life saver!

P.S: I reached the hundred mark for reviews on and I am so unbelievably happy. I wanted to thank everyone for reviewing. I hope that you continue to tell me how you feel about the story!

Have fun reading!

**Chapter Fourteen**: The Raid, Pt. 1

Sirius walked back to his room in a daze, only the echoing numbing presence of the house keeping him from exploding. Remus had not only been keeping things from him – the other man was part of a raid that could get him _killed _and he hadn't even thought to tell Sirius. What would have happened if Remus never returned and Sirius was just left… waiting?

Because he wasn't strong. Not like Remy was. He wouldn't, _couldn't_, survive in a world where Remus didn't exist. Even in Azkaban, surrounded by Dementors and raging at his false imprisonment, the fact that Remus was alive somewhere, perhaps even happy, had given him a sense of satisfaction. Never mind that fact that Remus had been alive and _hating _him, only the werewolf's continuing existence had kept him going for those twelve years.

The idea more than shook him; did he mean so little to Remus? Entering into his room and collapsing onto his unmade bed, Sirius decided that he wasn't exactly fit to judge Remus in that aspect. When he left Grimmauld Place like a bat out of hell to go fight at the Department of Mysteries, he hadn't exactly been worrying about anything else other than _finally _getting to leave the damn place.

But it wasn't exactly fair for Remus to do the same thing to him. Especially for a _Malfoy_. Sirius' lip curled up unconsciously. Lucius Malfoy had been the most stuck-up, arrogant, poncy git he'd ever had the displeasure of knowing as a teen, and now the bastard had grown up and became a murderer to boot. And no doubt he'd taught his son the same lessons in cruelty and depravity – at least, that was what Sirius got from listening to Harry's stories about the snooty brat.

Dressing up as a dementor to try and make someone fall from their broom at sixty feet in the air.

Honestly, who _does _something like that?

A bloody sociopath, that's who. And Remus was planning on going about his merry way and 'rescuing' Malfoy while running headlong into the most obvious trap pulled since the beginning of the Second War. Without telling his lover. Sirius snorted at the thought.

Like hell he was.

Remus, for all of his intelligence and astuteness, was ridiculously gullible and a sucker for a sad story. That's why he had Sirius, to protect him from falling for other people's bullshit. Whatever Snape – the damned turncoat – had thought up, his Remy wasn't going to get caught up in it.

Resolved, Sirius stretched out on the bed and waited for his lover to get out of his _meeting_. Then he would explain to his poor little werewolf that he was being had.

**xXxXxXx**

"See-ya tomorrow, Remus," Tonks called as she narrowly dodged a flap in the carpet that would have sent her sprawling. Afterwards, of course, she ran into a bust of Sirius' great-great-something or other and nearly knocked it over.

Remus waved back, shaking his head in affectionate exasperation. He'd known Tonks almost as long as he'd known Sirius. Back then, of course, she was only Sirius' kid cousin who happened to have a crush on his werewolf friend—Sirius used to snicker every time she looked up at Remus in adoration with her multicolored eyes. Now, though, Tonks was an adult (relatively, at least) and an accomplished Auror to boot. It was unfortunate she'd never grown out of her inherent clumsiness, however.

He was just happy that she'd grown out of her crush.

Remus sighed slightly, inhaling the scent of the hallway out of pure habit and froze. Why did the entire space have the lingering smell of dog? A grim, to be exact?

"Damn," he cursed in a rare moment of anger, anger that was mostly directed towards himself. If Sirius had followed him, if he'd heard… Remus could have jeopardized the entire operation. And they were so close, having gone so long without being discovered. Of course, it helped that Albus tended to send everyone out on 'urgent business' while they were planning at Grimmauld place, but still.

He'd thought that, by snogging Sirius silly before leaving to meet the others, he'd thrown his lover off his track. He should have known better. Sirius wouldn't fall for a trick like that, especially if he thought that Remus was hiding something from him. Sirius tended to get reckless when he thought something was being kept from him, and the last thing Remus needed was for the man to do something that would nearly get him killed—again.

It was settled then. He would have to speak to Sirius about this and make the other man understand how important this mission was. Hopefully, the animagus wasn't able to hear much (Severus must have fired off no less than twenty enchantments before starting the meeting) and Remus could get the man off his back for a day or two. That was all he needed, as they would be going to Malfoy Manor tomorrow.

He forcibly ignored the nagging feeling of guilt—he wasn't doing anything wrong by keeping his lover in the dark. Sirius couldn't be a part of this mission. His magic was still far too depleted and it would just make the other man worry if he knew Remus was going on a raid. But what if something happened and… he didn't come back? How could put Sirius through what he went through when the other man went through the Veil?

But did he have the right to tell his love the truth, knowing that an innocent life might be jeopardized in the process? Remus felt like bashing his head against the wall. He didn't know what to do, and that was particularly vexing.

But perhaps he was getting ahead of himself. First he needed to go to Sirius and find out what the other man knew. It could be nothing (there really was an excess of warding on the door). There was no sense in thinking all this up until he talked to Sirius.

Which is why it took him ten minutes of standing outside his lover's door before gaining the courage to actually open it. He, of course, knew that Sirius was aware of his prescence, something that didn't bode well. If his lover knew he was there and didn't come to greet him that meant he was angry with Remus.

Which meant he'd heard more than Remus hoped he had.

Steeling his resolve and mustering up his courage, Remus let out a heavy sigh and opened the door, nearly cringing at this slight of his lover's pseudo-relaxed pose on the bed. This was bad.

"Hey," he murmured slightly, reluctant to move away from the door. For a moment it looked as if Sirius wouldn't answer him when he got a sudden:

"What the hell are you doing standing at the door like that? It's not like I'm going to bite you, although you probably deserve it with, oh," Sirius brought up his fingers, ticking them when he made a point, "I don't know, how about we start with the fact that you've been keeping Order business from me, which obviously means I'm below your trust, the fact that you told _Harry_ of all people, an impulsive teenager, my _godson_ who doesn't need to be in the middle of whatever you and Snape have going on at the moment, which brings me to my next point, which is: you're letting fucking Snape endanger your life by going along with this fools errand, and you weren't going to fucking tell me a thing! When was I going to find out, huh? When you were lying dead at Voldemort's feet?" The last part was nearly hissed out with rage, but Remus could hear all of the other emotions underneath it: fear, worry, insecurity, and most importantly, love.

"Sirius," Remus started helplessly, wondering how he was going to justify himself. "You are making it sound as if this mission revolves around you: it doesn't. It's a rescue mission, I was recruited for it by Severus," At this Sirius gave a derisive snort, "however, the raid is sanctioned by Albus. It is his plan, I'm not blinding following someone on a 'fool's errand'. I wouldn't do that."

Sirius got up off the bed and began to pace. "But you don't understand. Albus has always trusted people that he shouldn't, and _Severus _is just the latest of a long list of wizards gone wrong. The man may be headmaster, but he's not invulnerable. He made a mistake, that's all. But I'm not letting you get hurt for it."

Sirius walked closer to Remus, and the werewolf was suddenly struck by how odd Sirius was acting. He'd honestly expected far more yelling and arguments that didn't make sense. But this… this was different and it was making Remus oddly nervous.

"Love," the animagus began, resting his hands on Remus' shoulders. "I know you're trying to do the right thing. I'm not vexed with you for that, I've always admired that part of you. But Snape is just taking advantage of your need to help others, he's stringing you along with some idiotic story about Draco _Malfoy _trying to save some Muggle girl."

The man paused, taking Remus' wide eyes and tense frame as a good sign. Continuing on, his voice became exceedingly gentle, "And we both know you're a bit naïve and gullible, when it comes to things like this you can't be counted on to see through—"

"Excuse me?" Remus had felt guilty, but now he was taken over by another emotion—anger. Prying Sirius' hands not so gently from his shoulder, Remus turned for a moment and fired off a silencing charm. He had no doubt that things would be getting a bit… loud in a moment. "Are you insinuating that I'm too stupid to see through a smoke screen? That all Severus had to do was shine a sad story in front of my face and I'd fall for it, because I'm so bloody naïve?" How in the hell could Sirius act as if he needed every decision made for him when he'd managed to survive twelve years of prejudice without a friend or lover to call on—twelve years without Sirius? Did the man really think he was so pathetically weak?

Sirius' eyes widened. "No, that's not what I'm saying at all. Sometimes, you just need to be protected from—"

"Oh, now I'm a fragile lamb that needs protecting for the big, bad _wolf_," Remus hissed out, his voice sounding more like a growl. "Need I remind you, that if I get angry enough, I can bench-press a Muggle car? Or were you so involved in this fantasy of painting me out to be some brain-dead damsel in distress that you managed to forget that little fact?"

"You don't—"

"I know exactly what I'm doing, Sirius. I'm taking part in rescuing—"

"Malfoy," Sirius cried out incredulously. "You're not able to see how bloody stupid this is? The whole lot of them are pure evil – there's not been a good wizard with the last name Malfoy. Ever! You can't –"

"First off, he's not just a Malfoy – he's a human being, a _boy _that's the same age as Harry! And you know, more than anyone, that people don't have to live up to the darkness of their family name. Or have you suddenly forgotten your full name, Sirius Orion _Black_?"

"I," Sirius sputtered out. "That is completely different and you know it. I never followed my family's ideals, and that brat has been nothing but a Death Eater loving, muggle-born hating, pain in the arse bully who takes pride in throwing around his father's influence! The moment he turns to the Light like I did, I'll eat the Sorting Hat! He is everything we both hate and are currently trying to rid the world of! He's Death Eater scum and I refuse to let you endanger yourself!"

"That _brat_," Remus roared out, "is more of a hero than you were at that age, or did you suddenly forget that your rebellion to the Light Side included the constant humiliation and attempted murder of a fellow student! He risked his life to save a Muggle girl, and don't you dare tell me that story is a lie, and is suffering for his good deed. Yes, he's made mistakes—but who in this world hasn't? You are a damn hypocrite of the worst kind; you and that child could go up against each other for the bully of Hogwarts any day! At least he never tried to kill a classmate! You are so full of shite you can't even see clearly—you were more of a Death Eater back then that Draco Malfoy ever was now!"

Remus paled the moment he finished his rant, unable to believe the things he'd just said. Not that all of it wasn't true to a certain extent, but he'd been cruel to bring up things from the past, things that hadn't talked about in years. Sirius was staring at him like a man who was shell-shocked, his expression unaccountably hurt.

"Oh, gods Sirius… I'm-I'm s-sorry," Remus stammered, not sure how to make this better.

Sirius was tense, his mouth set into a hard line, and for a moment, Remus thought the man would tell him to leave. Instead, the tension slowly left the other man's form, but Remus was unable to relax.

Sirius sighed, turning pain filled eyes to Remus and running a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry too. Look… I was out of line attacking you like that the moment you came in, then by acting like a condescending arsehole. I think that… we both said things we didn't mean. Or… maybe said things we _did_ mean, just not in the way we should have said them."

Remus grimaced, nodding slightly. "I wasn't exactly at my best either. I didn't mean to dreg up the past like that. I… I just… I _know_ what I'm doing is right."

Sirius' stared at his lover, knowing that he couldn't stop him, but wondering if tonight would be the last time he saw him. "I'll respect your wishes in this, but I'll fucking _end_ Snape if there's one misplaced hair on your head because of his actions. There won't be a rock his slimy arse can hide under—"

"Sirius," Remus warned.

Sirius smiled softly, saying, "I know, I know, he's a good guy and all that. But if you don't come back…" Sirius trailed off.

"I'll come back," Remus murmured, amber eyes serious and shining with the power he kept hidden so often.

Sirius walked closer to the other man, joining their hands and pulling Remus to him. Enclosing him in his arms, Sirius smiled slightly as the shorter man tucked his head under Sirius' chin. "Sorry," Remus whispered against the other man's neck, causing him to shiver.

"I know, love. Me too."

**xXxXxXx**

Okay. So he might have a thing for Snape. Not the end of the world, now is it?

_Well, to some it might be_, Bill thought as imagined the look on the twins' faces, not to mention Ron's, once they found out who their older brother's latest conquest was. He snickered at the thought.

But the more time he spent the in the presence of the older wizard, the more he realized how truly amazing he was. No, he wasn't necessarily attractive, but he had a certain charm to him, something that spoke greater than his hooked nose and greasy hair. He was smart. So smart that it was scary at times, and Bill would get this particular chill down his spine when the other man thought up something particularly devious. Because that was the thing about Snape, he wasn't just brilliant, he was clever too.

And he was vulnerable, though he tried to hide it. It was part of the reason he was constantly spitting vitriol to anyone within hearing distance—he knew what others thought of him and reasoned that being the slightest bit pleasant was a waste of time. He figured people would hate him regardless of his actions, so why not give them a reason?

But there were other parts of Severus, parts that were obscured for him. There was a mystery, something that Bill didn't understand. It was intriguing for someone like him. Bill was, as he liked to term it, a people watcher. If he was able to spend a bit of time in an individual's presence, he was usually able to see what makes them tick (to coin a popular Muggle phrase). He'd known Fleur the moment he saw her, knew her intelligence and wit and beauty—but he also saw her arrogance and bigotry and the snootiness that would always hold her back. She would never be able to reach her full potential until she lost her, most likely inherited, self importance and saw that anything worth having was worth fighting for. Beauty would open a lot of doors, but just as many would stay closed if Fleur made no effort to open them.

They _were_ still seeing each other, technically, although they only met for the occasionally drink and 'lesson'. He knew there would be no future in that relationship, but hell, the sex was amazing.

But that fact that he didn't have it all figured out now was… well, a bit of a turn on. Man, he couldn't wait to get Severus out of his element, see what was beneath all of that—

He was pulled out of his slightly lecherous thoughts by the sound of the door opening creakily. Bill was a bit early—they weren't set to leave until two hours from now—but he'd hoped to catch Severus alone. He fought down disappointment at seeing it was only Harry. Not that he didn't like the kid, he did. Harry was like another brother (albeit a less annoying one). He'd just… wanted it to be Severus.

"Hey, Harry. You're a bit early to be seeing us off." He noticed with a bit of concern that the boy's ever present dark-circles under his eyes hadn't seemed to lighten. If anything, they'd gotten darker. He wondered what Harry'd seen this time. Probably not something relevant to the rescue, but it had to have been damn disturbing.

"I suppose," Harry muttered, collapsing in a chair next to Bill with a sigh. "I just feel as if I should be doing something… _more_, somehow."

"Don't think like that, kid," Bill replied. "You've done plenty—"

Harry snorted. "You mean walking around like an Inferi, being useless with planning, and generally getting in the way. Yeah, I've been a real asset to the team," Harry said, words nearly dripping with sarcasm.

"Geez, Harry. Hold the Slytherin, why don't you? And don't beat yourself up so much about things you can't control. You _have_ helped. You're the only one here besides Severus with experience in dealing with the Dark Lord. And Severus hasn't ever dueled with him."

The Gryffindor sighed. "I know all of that. But I just wished that I couldn't have sped things up—it's taken so damn long to get to this point, to the actual rescue."

"I know you haven't been part of any other raiding operations, but the time it took us to come up with a plan was unprecedented. It usually takes months."

Harry's mouth tightened for a moment and Bill got the distinct impression that he was grinding his teeth. "Yeah. I know. But that doesn't make me feel any better. You don't know how much pain he's in… what's happening. He's suffering, so much—" Harry stopped, his voice choked and low.

"Harry, have you seen something? Have things gotten… worse for Draco," Bill asked hesitantly. It was still an odd feeling, risking his life for someone he'd never met. For a Malfoy, the near sworn enemies of his family; but he knew that he was doing the right thing and didn't want anything to happen to the boy. Especially not now. Not when they were so close to saving him.

The boy shook his head. "I'm not sure… I don't think so. I've had a couple of dreams, but I can't remember what I saw in them. Most of all, though, is what Voldemort has been feeling over the past couple of days. One moment, he's filled with rage, the other he's feeling… I don't even know how to describe it. I would call it happiness, or-or _pleasure_ even, but that bastard's far too sick to read like you would a normal person. I'm really worried for Malfoy…" Harry smiled ruefully, shaking his head again. "I can't believe it, I'm worried about _Malfoy_, of all people. I would have laughed myself silly if anyone had told me a year ago—but he's not a bad person. Not the monster I'd always thought he was. Once he's all healed up, he'll probably be as much of a prick, though."

Bill snorted at that. "Yeah, probably."

The two sat in silence for a couple of minutes, waiting for the others to arrive. Severus arrived without his customary swirling robes, instead wearing rather tight fitting battle robes. Bill's mouth hung open, his throat dry as he saw something, a glimmer—but it was gone too fast for him to identify. And he was left with the Severus he'd always known. The Severus that was more attractive, harshly (and unknowingly) sexual than any other person he'd ever known. That _damned_ glamour. What in Merlin's name was it hiding?

Could it possibly be more amazing then what he was seeing now?

Bill's mouth was still open, and he was either about to make a complete and utter fool out of himself by 1.) drooling, or 2.) using the cheesiest, most disgusting pick-up line possible, when he was saved by Remus' timely entrance. A Remus who was oddly flustered, almost as if he'd run to the room, and… were those hickeys on his neck?

Bill wasn't given much time to ponder on this subject when Harry practically bound towards the werewolf, his face suddenly determined and resolute.

"Remus, I—"

Remus either knew Harry in and out, or possessed Seer blood, because he immediately responded with a resounding, "No," his face shadowed and serious.

"But—" the teen began.

"No, Harry. You can't come with us. Surely you understand that?" Remus said softly, trying to reason with the boy. Bill and Severus stared at the two with slightly incredulous stares; surly Harry wasn't thinking of coming with them? "It would be far too dangerous, and I would never forgive myself for putting you in harm's way."

Harry shook his head, a familiar stubborn gleam lighting his bright eyes. "I can help you, I know I can! I've been researching and I know loads of defensive and offensive spells, plus I'll be able to sense when Voldemort is nearby. I'm not a child, I can be of use. You need me to –"

"Oh, Potter knows _loads _of defensive spells. I've never felt safer," Severus sneered out, giving the boy a disbelieving glance. Just when he though the Gryffindor had gained a mediocre amount of intelligence, he suggests something so utterly stupid. How… typical.

"No one asked for your opinion, you—" Harry growled out angrily.

"Harry," Remus cut the boy off, far more sternly then he had before. "You are not coming with us and that is _final_. You are best suited here, and you know that. Mr. Malfoy will be in a bad way when we get him out of there, not to mention that many of us will likely get hurt in the process as well, and we need you to begin preparing for that—that is why we've brushed you up on the most vital healing spells. You're responsible for Flooing to Poppy if everyone is too injured to do so ourselves, and you know well that if Sirius doesn't have someone keeping an eye on him, he'll follow us! Your godfather is far too weak to be participating in a raid, and I'm counting on you to make sure he doesn't."

Harry paled slightly. "S-Sirius _knows_?"

"Yes, he's aware of the raid. And it's all that…" Remus faltered for a moment, stopped by the utter malevolence in Snape's dark stare. Perhaps he should have pulled Severus aside and told him? Yes, that would have been a better approach. "…all that I could do to convince him to stay here. If there's no one to keep him from running off, that's exactly what he'll do. And the last thing I want is a repeat of the Department of Mysteries. I haven't even allowed him to come see me off for that very reason—I have no doubted he'd tag-Apparate if given half the chance." He hated to play on Harry's sense of obligation here, but he'd do what he had to if it insured the boy would be out of harm's way.

"Yes, Potter," Snape sneered out, recovering rather quickly from his rage-induced stupor. "Keep your bloody mutt out this raid, lest it turn into a complete debacle. The last thing Draco needs is that mangy fool gifting our operation with his particular brand of heroics that leave more people dead than alive." The man threw Remus another look that clearly said 'what in the hell were you thinking, you damned idiot?!' Remus didn't bother to correct him on the fact that _he_ hadn't told Sirius, the house had. That was a conversation for another day… or year.

"Sirius isn't going to interfere," Remus said tiredly, simultaneously rubbing a hand over his eyes and putting a hand up to stop Harry's retort. "He's promised."

Snape's snort clearly showed what he thought of Sirius' promises, but Remus was in no mood to argue. Not now, when he was about to risk his life. Snape would have to get his verbal jollies somewhere else, because he wasn't rising to the bait tonight.

"Harry," Remus said, turning to the teen. "Please, you _have_ to stay here. There is no place for you in this raid—you've already given us all that you can. You've helped Mr. Malfoy as much as you can, and you must be content with that knowledge. There is nothing more that you can do and this raid, success or failure, lies in our hands, not yours. Running along with us half-cocked would only be a distraction, a potentially fatal one. Stay here. Keep an eye on Sirius. Prepare for injuries. Do what you must—but _do not_ attempt to come with us. Are we clear?"

Harry's were widened, shocked by the sheer authority emanating from the werewolf. It was times like these when he was reminded that Remus had _ruled_ over his classrooms with a dictatorial (yet somehow kind) power that made it hard, nearly impossible even, to disobey him. Harry had never listened to another's advice the way he listened to Remus'—not even when it came to Sirius or Professor Dumbledore. He found himself nodding mutely, resigned to the fact that he _would_ be staying.

Severus checked the time in a practiced, bored, gesture perhaps a moment before Tonks came crashing into the room. Literally. Rolling his eyes towards the heavens in despair, the Potion's Master diligently ignored the woman's inelegant (to say the least) entrance.

"We're to leave soon," he snapped out coldly. "You might want to get yourself together."

Bill stepped closer to Severus, holding his hand out in feigned nonchalance. The Potion's Master stared down at it as if Bill was trying to offer him a poisonous snake, but eventually clasped it harshly; grimacing as if touching the red-head was actually causing him pain. Well, he'd get over it eventually; especially once Bill worked his impervious Weasley charm on the snarky man.

Staring at Severus' rather disgusted grimace, he thought, _I'll get him, alright. Just a matter of time, old boy, just a matter of time. _If Severus didn't find out and kill him first, that is.

He glanced over to Tonks, who was holding on to Severus' other hand, and to Remus, who was clasping the man's right shoulder in preparation for the Apparation. Harry stood not far away, watching them with something akin to longing. Did the boy really want to be part of Order operations that badly? Or was it merely that he wanted to be a part of this _particular_ raid that badly? Bill would be willing to bet on the former.

Snape looked rather uncomfortable, obviously unused to having so many people touching him at once. He cleared his throat after a moment. "Is everyone ready? If you haven't got a good grip, I'm not going to waste time on finding your scattered pieces," he threatened.

Everyone let out an affirmative, and Harry nodded once, silently wishing them all luck. Then, they were gone.

**xXxXxXx**

If normal Apparation was similar to being pushed through a tube, this was pure crushing torture. The pressure alone was nearly unbearable, especially on the top of his head. Severus clenched his eyes shut, holding on to consciousness as he transported the others. It was nearly impossible to Apparate a group of such volatile magical components (a Dark Wizard, a Were, a Metamorphmagus, and a powerful Curse-breaker), but he knew he could make it. If he just held on a moment longer… just a bit.

They slammed into the ground with force, letting go of each other almost immediately. It was fortunate that the forest ground was particularly mossy, at least in this clearing. Grand oaks rose over the group in a way that would have been majestic, if the trees were remotely normal. Instead, knarled, knotted roots rose from the ground in disturbing patterns, some of which resembled barky intestines. The trunks and limbs were twisted in such a way that many appeared to be humans suffering various forms of physical torture. Some trees were completely devoid of leaf, while others grew odd, vine-like foliage down to their roots.

Such was the consequence of an unnatural amount of dark magic running amok in a forest for hundreds of years.

Tonks was up first, groaning and clutching her aching head. Apparation had never given her a headache before. She hoped she hadn't splinched a piece of her brain or something.

"I thought you said you could Apparate us," she cried, staring at Severus with accusing eyes while the others stared at their surroundings with a wary, watchful look.

"I did," Severus gritted out, panting. "I didn't say it would be as comfortable as a normal Side-Along. No wonder you were so abysmal in Potions, you never pay attention." He was standing, shaking off the odd aches of such a taxing action.

"Are you alright?" He turned, noticing Weasley was approaching him with a look close to concern.

"Fine," he snapped out, deftly avoiding the other man's reaching hand. Pulling out his wand, he let out a quick, commanding "Point Me." The light began to lead west and he followed it, hardly noticing the others beside him. After a couple of moments, he glanced at them, realizing with something akin to approval that they all had their wands at the ready. Good. At least they wouldn't die so easily.

"Why is it that we're using a Point Me spell instead of the map, again?" Bill muttered as the little spark of light began to weave around the deadly looking forest.

"If you'd been paying attention, you would know the answer to that, now wouldn't you?" Why in hell did Weasley have to ask him so many damn questions as if he didn't already know the answers? Weasley was a curse breaker, for Merlin's sake! This was becoming particularly unnerving… did the man just like to hear him speak?

Severus frowned. He knew that couldn't be it.

"It's because of the spells used to make the map versus the wild, not to mention Dark, natural magic in the forest. The spells would begin to unweave and the map would be completely destroyed in a couple of minutes. We're not even sure how long the map will hold up in the Manor—activating it here would be, well, rather stupid," Remus explained in a hushed tone, eyes roving quickly over his surroundings. More than the others, he had to stay aware. Due to his own Dark creature, he would be able to identify another one far before anyone else. For tonight, at least, he was a detector of sorts.

"Wait." Everyone stopped, first looking to see if anything had alerted the Potion Master's attention, if something was approaching. When realizing there was no immediate threat, they relaxed and noticed the man was pulling out several small bottles of liquid. Potions.

He handed one to each of them, and Tonks took time to examine the small vile. The container was small, barely a teaspoons worth, really. The contents, while obviously liquid, shined like spun gold. She lifted it up slightly, staring at it with a stupefied expression. It was, after all, rather pretty.

But what was it supposed to do?

"Is this what I think it is," she heard Remus whisper in awe. "Felix Felicis?"

Her (currently dark) eyes bulged. Felix Felicis, more a legend that a potion, was one of the most elusive substances in the world. Almost guaranteeing the victory to anyone who drinks a mere drop of Felix Felicis, the potion was heavily monitored by all Ministries of Magic and kept from the general public. Anyone found distributing (or making) it unauthorized earned a cell in Azkaban—forever. In the wrong hands, the potion was lethal (or just damn unfair): criminals would be able to get away with nearly any crime, deaths that shouldn't have happened would occur seamlessly, and worst of all, quidditch games would be utterly _pointless_. Potion Masters that could make literal bottled luck were numbered—Tonks had a sudden, deep respect for the skills of one Severus Snape, as well as an instant relief that he was on their side. She envisioned a world in which Death Eaters had an endless supply of Felix Felicis and shuddered.

Severus noted, with a bit of unease, that the Lupin and Tonks were staring at him as if he'd made Christmas come early while Bill was giving him a look that might have been a cross between a giddy schoolboy and a leer, but he knew that couldn't be it.

No one looked at him like that.

_Severus, old boy_, he thought with an eyeroll, _far too many death-defying experiences have addled your brain. You should leave that mess to the Gryffindors. _And yet here he was…

"That amount of Felix Felicis should last for approximately eighteen hours. _Do not waste it_. Drink it only at the first sign of trouble. Not now," he snapped, sparing a glance at Weasley, who had already taken off the stopper.

"But why do we have to wait," Weasley nearly whined. "It's not as if we're going to be here for eighteen hours."

"We don't know what could happen, but if you feel comfortable jeopardizing the chances of your already dubious survival, then please. Drink it," he hissed out, satisfied when the other man put the stopper back and placed the potion in his pocket.

They continued on for several more minutes, following the small light of Severus' spell. Bill was beginning to think this mission was becoming a bit of a letdown. Nothing had even _happened_ yet (this was all thought in a whine) and it looked like he wouldn't even get to use his dose of Luck Potion. He wondered if Severus would let him keep it anyway… glancing at the dour man, who gave him a deadly look in return, he realized that was probably a long shot.

"We're almost through the forest," Severus spoke quietly.

"And not a DarCre (1) in sight," Tonks crowed, rising a fist in the air. Those words, unfortunately, would prove to be spoken too soon. A moment later, Remus (who had been utterly quiet and focused on detecting anything dangerous that might be moving in the forest) suddenly froze, his head snapping unnaturally fast to the west of them. Everyone else stopped moving and there was complete silence for a moment. Then…

"What do you smell?" That was Severus, his wand already pointed in the direction Remus was facing and about twenty spells in his mind (the man was far to advanced to have to say most of his spellwork).

Remus sniffed once, his amber eyes sharp. "Spiders. Two or three of them, I think. Big… but not Acromantulas."

"And they can't be avoided," asked Tonks, wand at the ready. Using Remus as a guide, they'd been able to avoid many creatures—this shouldn't be any different. Right?

"No," Remus replied grimly. "They've smelt us. If we run, we risk them following us out of the forest and alerting the Death Eaters of our presence."

"Potions, now." Quickly obeying the dark-haired man, the others pulled out their vials and downed the small amount in one dose, shuddering at the feeling of the warm trickle down their throats which finally stopped and rested at the bottom of their stomach, where it began burning like a small furnace. Severus fought the cloud in his mind that told him he was unbeatable, all-powerful, that nothing could stop him. Because that just wasn't true and thinking that way, Felix Felicis or not, would get him killed. Remus, Tonks, and Bill were fighting the overbearing feeling of overconfidence as well, having been in enough battles not to be overcome by a false sense of power. Though, it was an amazing feeling.

Then, they were able to hear an odd sound, a weird twittering that was coming closer and closer… the ground began to shudder and shake in protest. That was the only warning given to them as several beasts burst through the clearly deftly dodging trees with a swiftness that belied their size.

At least there were only three of them, so they weren't outnumbered.

But they also weren't spiders.

Bill cursed audibly, wondering why Remus hadn't smelt the giant… what in the hell was it. Serpents, perhaps.. But no, right before his eyes the shapes were changing, small black beads roving around each other to form… men? It wasn't beads though. It was very, very tiny black spiders that glimmered faintly in the dim light of the forest moved in constant patterns, making the figures of the 'men' seeming as if they were vibrating slightly.

He shuddered, taking a step back. What the hell?

Then, they attacked.

Severus fired off a red spell at the nearest spider-creature (still in the shape of a man), cursing when the small spiders scuttled away from what would have been the man's midsection, creating a hole for his spell to pass through without harming them. The little buggers were fast. The only way he would get any good hits on it would be if he allowed it to get closer.

Dammit.

Remus was having similar problems as he fired off the Blade curse, which passed seamlessly through the spiders though it should have been cut in half. The creatures came closer, close enough to touch and Remus dropped into a crouch, allowing his Were instincts to take over. His eyes shined an unnatural gold as he growled threateningly at the spiders, causing them to pause for a moment in confusion.

They obviously weren't expecting a human to growl. He used the monsters' momentary surprise to get in a good shot, "Glacialis Letum!" (2) He watched in satisfaction as an 'arm' fell off, the small creatures frozen in blocks of ice and obviously dead. That was one way, at least to take care of them. His smile faded rather quickly as the spiders quickly reformed themselves into the shape of a wolf, launching itself at him.

Tonks and Bill, pairing off against one of the creatures, begin to fire off a barrage of spells, hoping one would do harm or stop the spiders. A few hit, but did no harm, sliding off the protective exoskeletons of the… whatever the hell they were. A sudden idea hit Tonks, and she quickly began to change herself, allowing her hair to recede into her scalp and making her skin appear black, metallic, and bumpy. It wasn't perfect, but she was a near match for the creature.

Noticing something that looked so similar to itself, the malformed creature stopped, cocking its head to the side as it examined Tonks' new form. She shuddered slightly as the creature came close enough that she could smell the odor of stale blood coming of it. It clicked madly with its spider formed jaws, obviously trying to communicate with her a moment before Bill cast a Sticking Charm on the spiders. The small creatures twittered in protest, trying to squirm away from one another, but were unable to change shape. "Cast a Sticking Hex," Bill yelled out, hoping Remus and Severus could hear him over the sounds of the spiders clicking. "It stops them from changing shape!"

He cast a Stunning Spell a moment too late and the man shaped creature tackled Tonks. She shrieked at the feeling of dozens of stings in her arms (which she had thrown in front of her in protection) before regaining her sense and putting her foot up between her and the creature, pushing it off of her with a sickening squelch.

Severus, hearing Bill's yell, and quickly cast a Sticking Charm on his own monster, managing to catch it with the second try. His arm stung from inadvertently allowing the spiders to get to close to him, resulting in several small bites. Which would be poisonous, knowing his luck. He also noted the sound the other one had made when Tonks kicked it and his eyes widened in understanding, quickly dodging the creature's attempt to tackle him. The exoskeletons were slightly impervious to spells, but not to general force.

Putting all of his power behind the spell, Severus roared out a, "Wingardium Leviosa!" Two spiders shot up quickly, reaching a height of nearly forty feet in mere seconds. He paused for a moment to judge the height of the thing, before letting the creature go. It made an odd, chilling shrieking noise as it fell. He was quite unprepared for the large splatter it made when it landed close to him, coating him in smelly, bluish-black (thankfully not acidic) gunk.

Remus had reacted to Bill's yell last, and so his creature was stuck in the form of a half wolf, half human creature (much more disturbing that any werewolf he'd ever seen) with sharp, deadly scythe-like hands. He already bore shallows marks as testament to how sharp those hands were. He'd hit it with a couple more Glacier Deaths, causing it to become a bit small and quite a bit slower then it had been before. It swiped at him again and he jumped out of the way at the last moment, flinching at the feel of vile smelling liquid splashing on his left side. He paused for a moment, as he stared at the remains of Severus' 'opponent'. So, that was another, perhaps more effect way to kill them.

He tossed an almost lazy, "Reducto," as the creature lashed out at him once more, noting that the powerful haze of the Felix Felicis was returning. He watched as he creature was demolished after crashing into a tree, the still living spiders sticking to their dead brothers and being slowly smothered as the gunk from the dead spiders spread over them. The sight wouldn't have made him happy under normal circumstances, but an odd smirk found its way onto his features.

Meanwhile, Bill and Tonks cast several Bludgeoning curses on the last of the spider-creatures, grimacing at the smell and disgusting sounds it made as it was, for lack of better word, squished. "Gross," Tonks whined, her skin already turning to its normal pale shade and soft blond hair falling to her shoulders. She glanced around; happy to see that everyone had came out of the fight hardly worse for wear, if one didn't count the smell, of course. Then she saw Remus, eyes shining with preternatural strength and with an odd, half-smirk on his lips and flushed lightly. The man was really too cute. She flushed darker as he looked her up and down, checking for injuries. If only he were checking her for something else.

"Very. Ugh, I'm going to have to burn these robes," Bill muttered in annoyance, aggravated at the way his fingers were sticking to one another from the creature' blood. He looked to Severus and choked back a laugh, not wanting to be murdered.

The man looked, for lack of a better term, adorable.

He was completely covered with the dark-blue stuff, even having thin, odd streaks across his face. Some had even gotten in his hair, sweeping it away from his face and spiking the shorter strands up weirdly. Severus noted him looking and muttered a quick, "Animus Scourgify," giving him a nasty glare.

The spell didn't get rid of all of it, and it certainly didn't take all of the smell away, but it did clean him up a bit. The others followed his example, cleaning themselves the best they could.

"Was it just me, or was that easier then it should have been," Bill asked tentatively.

"The Felix Felicis must have helped. Russian Tar-Spiders are usually much more difficult to kill," Remus said, also a bit unnerved at how quickly the creatures had been defeated. (3)

Bill's eyes widened. That's what those things had been? Tar-Spiders were known to be as deadly as Chimeras and twice as hard to kill. "Hell."

"Point Me." They all started slightly the sound of Severus calling out his spell once more, realizing that the raid had only really began. They had yet to reach Malfoy Manor and there was still so much to be done…

Falling behind the Potion's Master, the followed along silently for a couple of more minutes, the euphoria of wining against the Tar-Spiders fading. Yes, there was still a long ways to go, still many ways to die.

The trees were becoming thinner and thinner, the light of the moon falling brighter upon them. Finally, they came against the edge of the forest, eyes roving across the large field to Malfoy Manor. Though it was more of a fortress than any type of manor Bill had ever seen. As he squinted, he could make out the outlines of two or three figures standing guard. Not too many.

Good.

"Disillusionment Charm now, I suppose," Remus muttered quietly to Severus.

"And well have to crawl, or else they'll notice something is up before we get there," Tonks replied.

Severus nodded to both of them, releasing a sigh in an uncommon show of emotion. He was finally here; finally ready to save his godson. He only hoped that Draco had managed to stay alive—and _sane_. He was ready to fight, but not ready to see what condition the boy he'd always considered to be his son was in. The last time he'd seen him was bad enough, but after prolonged time with the Dark Lord himself…

Severus trembled for a moment. He came back to himself as he heard Weasley ask, "Severus, are you alright?" He chose not to respond, not wanting to look back into the other man's blue eyes. A man he was probably leading to his death. No, he wasn't alright.

"Prepare yourselves," Severus muttered grimly, raising his wand to Disillusion himself.

TBC

1) DarCre—Auror slang for Dark Creature.

2) Glacialis Letum— Known as the Glacier Death spell, literally means 'frozen death.' Used to freeze opponents to death. This is a self-created spell, so I apologize for the terrible Latin.

3) Russian Tar-Spiders—This creature is my own creation, so don't expect to find it in any Harry Potter reference source.


	15. The Raid, Pt 2

**Author**: Angeleus

**Fandom**: Harry Potter

**Rating**: R (Adult)

**Genre**: Romance, Drama, Angst, H/C

**Pairing**: Harry/Draco

**Warnings**: Language, Anal, Explicit Torture, Disturbing imagery.

**Disclaimer**: In no way, shape or form do I own any portion of the Harry Potter Universe. I am not making any profit from this fanfiction.

**Summary**: When Draco disobeys everything he's learned in a single action, he is made a prisoner in his own home. Can Harry and Severus save him, or will he be destroyed by an obsessive Dark Lord's plans? Can bonds of love and friendship triumph over ultimate evil? Harry/Draco, H/C, Tort, Lang, Anal

**Author's Note**: Whew! I'm finally getting there. In following chapter or the next, Harry and Draco will finally meet. It's been a looooong time in coming, believe me. I should have labeled this story as pre-slash more than anything else, but it should be living up to the H/D pairing soon. Promise.

**P.S**: I respond to all reviewers through 's response system. If you want to make sure I respond to your review or want to ask a question, sign in when you review or send me any email. I always mean to respond to readers who don't sign in at the end of the chapter, but I usually forget. I don't want anyone to think that I'm ignoring them! Thanks fore all the lovely reviews, I really do appreciate it!

Thanks to my wonderful beta, **Vittani**, for editing this chapter so quickly!

**Chapter Fifteen**: The Raid, Pt. 2

It was much harder than it appeared, crawling along the ground. Bill panted, dragging himself another couple of feet as he warily watched the ever-closer figures of the three Death Eaters. The others were close by he knew, although he couldn't quite see them. He knew that Tonks and Remus were to his right, Severus to his left. He also knew that this part of the plan had to be executed perfectly—the Death Eaters couldn't even be allowed to blink before being put down.

Everything counted on the element of surprise, an element that would be lost if these Death Eaters were able to alert others of their presence.

"Go," he heard murmured to his left and he sighed, pushing himself several more feet. He was eager to just sneak up on the bastards and Stun them, but it was an open area and four Disillusioned Order members (even if they were crawling) could easily be noticed. The charm wasn't an invisibility cloak, after all. It made you harder to see, but not invisible.

"Stop!" Bill froze at Severus' hiss, feeling more than seeing the others' movements stop as well. One of the Death Eaters seemed agitated about something and was pointing out in the distance. Hopefully, not towards them. Bill strained his ears, trying to hear what they were saying.

He heard a whispered spell and almost jumped at the sound of voices close to him.

"…_fucking stupid! We're stationed out here, watching bloody grass sway in the wind when we could be—" The gruff voice was cut off by a nervous, slightly nasally one._

"_Doing what, exactly? Abandoning our post so that our Lord will flay us alive the next time he sees us? The Dark Lord knows what he's doing. If he wants us to watch grass, then that's what I'm going to do. Stop complaining. Your whining isn't making the time go any faster."_

"_You're only saying that because of your fuck-up at the Ministry a few weeks ago… not his favorite person, now are you," another voice added slyly. "The farther away from the Dark Lord you are, the better. He might not notice what a pathetic waste of space you are."_

"_Oh yeah, Rogers? If the Dark Lord favored you, you wouldn't have stuck here with us. So shut yer mouth you a—"_ The spell ended and the voices faded away.

At least they hadn't been discovered. And Bill was beginning to feel confident that they could get past these fools without detection. What a bunch of stooges… really.

A couple of more minutes of crawling and they were close enough to the men to hear what they were saying without a spell. Severus made a signal to Tonks and Remus, telling them to take out the two nearest to them. Bill already had his wand out, still crouched on the grass. He waited for Severus to make his move, knowing he had to react a second later.

The Disillusioned man stood silently, his movements as graceful and sure as a large cat. Stepping behind the closest Death Eater, Severus cast a quick and silent Stupefy. The man never had a chance. He wobbled and fell just as another of his friends was immobilized by Bill's spell. Tonks and Remus struck at the same time, cutting off the cries of the other two men. In a less than thirty seconds, it was over.

A bit anti-climatic, but at least things were going smoothly.

Taking a couple of moments to Disillusion, restrain, and pull the Death Eaters away from the doorway, the four unconsciously stalled stepping into the manor. This would be… life changing at best, life ending at worst. But there was good being done tonight, he was saving someone who, despite being a racist brat the last time Remus had seen him, had changed into a young man who would risk his life for another. Which, he supposed, meant that the potential for good had always been underneath the scathing and cold exterior. He wished he'd seen it during his time at Hogwarts a few years ago—perhaps the boy's current predicament could have been avoided. Maybe Remus hadn't wanted to see anything different. Perhaps he'd been blinded by a surname and house colors and the memory of a cruel blond who had once threatened to slay him like the beast he was.

Yes, his memories of Lucius Malfoy weren't exactly the greatest.

But there was no use in wishing for yesterday to change what you had a million tomorrows to make right.

He thought so, at least.

He glanced at Severus, who was making his way to the doorway and sighed. Time to not get killed.

Severus gestured to those behind him. Once they got closer he murmured, "Follow me. Do _not_ go off on your own. I know these walls better than anyone else… do not be a fool and think you can find your own way," his eyes stopped to Tonks and Bill as he said this. "Do not hesitate to kill any Death Eaters in our path if it can save your life. I have no pity if you are cut down because you saw fit to pause in some misguided attempt at being moral. We get in, we find Draco, we kill anyone in our way, and we get out. Alive. Understood?" He stared down all of them, unwilling to show his own nervousness at what they were about to do.

He turned around, creating a small, wandless Lumos in the palm of his hand and took out the map, activating it. He looked for his godson's name and saw, with a sinking heart that the boy was in the Dark Lord's chambers. Fortunately, however, the Dark Lord wasn't with him. The raping bastard was in the north wing of the manor, far from his rooms.

He stepped through the doorway, hearing the others come behind him silently, even Tonks. The corridor was dark, and from what he could see from the tiny ball of light floating in his hand, the walls were damp. The uncomfortable smell of mildew permeated through the narrow hall, making his nose twitch.

He heard the sound of the werewolf coughing and shushed him. Tonks lit her own Lumos on the tip of her wand. Was the girl stupid? Severus was about to reach back and yank the wand out of her hand when Weasley spoke up.

"Put that out now," he whispered lowly. "The less light the better, Tonks."

The girl's eyes turned a light violet for a moment before she sighed and whisper 'Nox'. "Fine. But don't be surprised if I trip every other step because I can't see where I'm going. It's bloody dark, if you haven't noticed."

"If your clumsiness gets us discovered, I'll kill you myself," Severus hissed back. He knew her well enough to know that she was sticking out her tongue at his back and he resisted the urge to curse her. That could wait until after Draco was retrieved safely and they were far away from this cursed place.

They continued to move down the hall slowly, careful of any hidden dangers that may be lurking in the dark. The entrance they'd come through was of the lower level—the underground floor right above the dungeons. There was a risk of running into Death Eaters who were leaving or going to the torture chambers, but it was also the only floor that wasn't guarded.

So they made their way down the darkened hall, unbothered and undetected.

For a while at least.

Severus, as he was nearing the end of the floor and close to the stairs, froze when he noticed that one of the shadows had moved when he shined the light on it. The others had seen it as well and paused with bated breath, wondering what terror was awaiting for them in the dark.

It couldn't be worse than the Tar-Spiders. Right?

They stayed frozen for several minutes, trying to glimpse a moment in the shadow without revealing themselves.

"Remus," Tonks murmured almost silently after those long, fear-filled minutes, "smell anything?"

"Nothing," he whispered out the side of his mouth. From the dim light of Severus' Lumos, Remus could see his breath in the air in front of him. Had it always been so cold?

"Maybe we were just imagining things," Bill suggested.

Severus didn't think so, but standing in the middle of a hallway in a Death Eater stronghold wasn't exactly an ideal situation. They would have to move forward eventually and see what was waiting for them. "Ready?" He didn't wait for the others to respond before raising his hand and pouring more power into his Lumos. The entire hallway was illuminated.

They weren't alone.

"Oh my… gods," Tonks squeaked, stepping back until she bumped into Bill, who was shuddering and (unknowing to anyone there) fighting the urge to step in front of Severus and shield the other man.

Remus had lowered himself into a crouch and Severus had also taken an involuntary step back before getting a hold on himself.

The rest of the hallway was filled with Lethifolds, their cloaks black as night and moving in an invisible wind. There were so many of them that they almost seemed cramped, the shrouds moving against on another like silk against silk. They did not move any closer to the group, instead looming threateningly over the exit.

Waiting for the humans to come closer.

"Oh my _gods_," Tonks repeated again, knowing they would have to get through the monsters. Lethifolds were not the most dangerous Dark Creatures known to wizards (basilisks and chimeras outranked them by a long shot), but they were the ones most feared by Wizard kind. What little wizarding child hadn't heard stories of the Lethifolds, the cloak-like monsters who snuck into children's beds and strangled the life out of them? Who hadn't woken up from a nightmare of being suffocated by the darkness, before screaming for mommy and daddy to come to the rescue?

But there were no parents here to tell them it was just a dream. This wasn't a dream.

For several long moments, no one moved forward. Then Remus growled under his breath and it snapped Severus into action. "Wands out, Lupin," he said quietly, reaching behind him with his free hand. Surprisingly enough, it was not a female hand that grasped his own, but a large male one. Severus looked back and grimaced. Weasley. Of course. Why was he even surprised?

He saw Tonks link hands with Bill and Remus link hands with Tonks. "We're making a run for it, right? I mean, we're going to fire off Ridikulus' and run like hell right?"

Severus sneered. "Unless you have a better plan?"

This was the oldest (and most effective) method of getting past Lethifolds. A group of people form a line, hands clasping to one another so that no member was separated and left behind. It was effective enough—but the catch was that only two people had an arm free… meaning, only two people would be able to cast spells in defense. Tonks was an Auror, and she was adept at using her _own_ wand to protect herself. It didn't sit well that she would be relying on someone else's spellwork. She didn't doubt Snape's abilities, however, nor did she doubt Remus'. She flushed slightly. No, Tonks didn't doubt Remus at all.

"No," she said with a sigh. "But I was hoping you would."

With no further warning, the group began to run forward.

The moment they hit the Lethifolds, it was as if they'd run into pure darkness. Heavy, impenetrable, choking darkness. Fortunately, Lethifolds weren't known for their swiftness, but that didn't stop one from latching onto Bill, the shroud wrapping around his upper arms and intending to pull him from the group. No sooner than the bloody thing had gotten a good hold on him, Bill heard a loud, "Ridikulus," and the hallway lit up with yellow light for a moment, highlighting the grimace on Severus' face as the man fought off another Lethifold intent on smothering him.

They were still running forward, and the constant illuminating light of Severus' and Remus' spells only showed an endless amount of enemies, as if they'd somehow stepped into a corridor completely filled with the blasted things. He couldn't see the end of the hallway, but fought down panic. It wasn't far away, he knew it.

They endured what seemed like hours of grasping, suffocating darkness, endless Lethifolds rising up when one of their brethren were shot down. Bill felt Tonk's small hand, slippery with sweat, begin to slide out of his own and held on to it relentlessly, going so far as to dig his nails into her fleshing, knowing that she would be more grateful than angry if they got out of this mess. _When, when they got out of this mess,_ he corrected himself silently.

It was odd, though, that Severus' hand didn't seem to be sweating, it was warming up, but still slightly cool. It should have been disturbing, but all he could think about was the fact that he was shuddering and shaking and how much he hoped the other man didn't notice.

Then, they broke through.

It was so sudden, as if an unimaginably dark sky was inexplicably illuminated by the bright sun. Never mind the fact that the corridor was nearly pitch-black, the difference from being in the dark and being able to _breathe_ was immediately apparent.

Bill could barely make out Severus, who was bent over gasping, his hands resting on his knees. He wanted to ask if the man was okay, but he couldn't find the breath to do so.

"E-everyone okay," Remus gasped out finally, righting himself. The others murmured a reply, too intent on getting back the wind that had been knocked out of their lungs to struggle speaking for a moment. Remus sighed and walked over to Severus, taking the map out of the Potion Master's pocket. He got a glare for his efforts before the man looked away gasping, trying to get back his lost breath.

Remus felt almost normal—there were _some_ advantages to being a werewolf he had to grudgingly acknowledge. It was very hard to take his breath, which was a Lethifold's specialty. Not that it hadn't been unnerving for him as well.

Remus' wand was already lit, casting a soft light over the map. It was safe to do so, as it was unlikely that anyone would see light past the shield of deadly cloth. His intent eyes spotted the Dark Lord's position almost immediately. He was on the move… going back to his quarters, perhaps? He cursed under his breath. That made things a bit more complicated.

"Looks like the Dark Lord is headed back towards Draco."

"What," Severus growled, his voice finally devoid of that cursed gasping and panting. He walked over to Lupin and resisted the urge to rip the damn map out of the man's hands. His dark eyes roved over the parchment, following the dot titled 'Tom Riddle,' and hoping the bastard wasn't going back to his quarters. No such luck. "Merlin," Severus muttered under his breath.

"Wonderful, just bloody perfect. If the Dark Creatures and Death Eater lackeys don't off us, then the Dark Lord still has a chance at it. I might as well AK myself now," Bill grumbled. He walked over the stairwell that would take them to the upper levels of the Manor, peeking for any errant Death Eaters. There were none. Now was a good time to move.

"Would you get away from there, you fool! Or are you just sticking your head out in the hopes that some inbred fool will stumble across us?" _Dear Severus_, Bill thought with a sigh, _you certainly have a way with words._

"I was checking to see if anyone was in the corridor… there isn't. Come on," he muttered, "While no one's on the stairs."

"Were you planning on Disillusioning yourself before charging into the corridor like some half-brained first year," Severus asked, his voicing mockingly polite. "Or where you just planning on telling every Death Eater you came across that they were just imagining the ginger oaf in the middle of their headquarters?"

Bill opened his mouth to respond (wondering if Severus knew that his insults weren't affecting Bill in the way that he might imagine) when Tonks interrupted the two. "Um, Bill? Can you save the snappy comeback until after we get out—yanno, before the Dark Lord flays our arses?"

The red-head decided not to respond, but made a show of taking out his wand and putting it over his head, murmuring the spell softly and staring at Severus all the while (with a look that may not have been entirely innocent).

While the other copied Bill's action, Severus remained rooted to the spot, unable to shake the feeling that there had been something _odd_ about Weasley's stare. He shook himself mentally and focused all his thoughts on Draco.

"Stay clo—"

"Close so that we won't lose each other. We know Severus," Remus interrupted in the politest way possible, somehow managing to sound respectful. With nothing further, the group began to ascend the stairs that would take them to the second level, Remus carefully righting Tonks after more than one near-spill on the slippery steps. Bill froze as he heard pained shrieks, causing Tonks to bump into him and nearly fall again.

"W-What was that?"

"The current entertainment for the Dark Revel, I have no doubt," he heard Severus' snap above him, the man's body hardly discernable from the spell. "Keep moving."

"But—" Bill started, his stomach prickling uncomfortably at the thought that someone was being hurt with no one to do something about it.

"What you do suggest we do, Weasley? Storm into a Dark Revel with several dozen Death Eaters and nicely ask them to stop torturing the poor muggles, because it's really bad sport?"

The cries sounded again.

Bill sputtered in outrage, truly angry at Severus for the first time. "You can't expect me to do _nothing_!"

"Yes, well, Draco did 'something' rather than 'nothing' and look how that turned out for him." Severus snarled back. "And yet, you still believe yo—"

"Guys," Remus interjected. "Let's—"

"_Please, no! Not my son please, don't no, not my baby please—" _The frantic voice cut off suddenly.

Bill moved rather quickly for his tall frame, intent on attempting to stop the monsters downstairs when a surprisingly strong hand clamped around his forearm.

"There is _nothing we can do_, you foolhardy Gryffindor." Severus voice hissed in his ear. "I know, more than you possibly could. Keep. Moving."

Bill shook his head in denial, though the other man couldn't see, but stopped when Remus spoke up.

"Listen to Severus and move, Bill. Now. I have no problem with Stunning you and setting off your portkey. Better that you end up in Grimmauld Place than jeopardizing this mission." Remus' calm, softly spoken words made him realize what he was about to do and he stood still for several long moments before sighing and turning around, absently noting that Severus' hand was still around his arm. The man let go quickly however, and began to walk up the steps once more, mumbling curses that Bill couldn't quite hear under his breath.

They never did notice the one lone cloak amongst the swarm of Lethifolds that had, upon their safe passage to the other side of the corridor, lifted up, passing through the seemingly solid stone ceiling above.

**xXxXxXx**

In every situation, there was an upside and a downside, Draco was slowly finding out. Upside: he knew that he hadn't been forgotten, that the Order had planned his rescue, a rescue which was taking place this very moment.

Downside: So did Voldemort.

He wasn't sure how. He knew, for a fact, that Voldemort hadn't gotten it out of his mind (any attempts at Legimency at the first incident proved unsuccessful) but somehow, the bastard had found out. And he was probably going to die. Along with those planning to rescue him. People who had families. People who would be missed. People who were worth something… more than could be said for him at the moment. Unless providing amusement to a sick, twisted fuck of a Dark Lord was considered useful.

He'd always thought that Gryffindors would die by his hand, not from trying to save him. _Oh, how the mightily arrogant have fallen_, he couldn't help but think in full self-deprecation, tugging half-heartedly at the chains suspending him from the ceiling. He was stretched fully, arms pulled tight in the sockets by the chains and the weight of his body, his toes barely able to touch the grimy floor. Damn.

"You… have two choices. I don't believe I have to tell you what they are." The harsh, angry sound of Voldemort's voice made his start. He wasn't even aware the man had come back. Using the word 'man' loosely, of course.

"And you have many choices, many forms of torture," Draco started, refusing to reflect the fear he was feeling in his voice. "But none of them will make me yield to you."

There was a sound. For a moment, he didn't recognize it. It was the sound of Voldemort laughing. "If you truly believe that, little one, you are far more ignorant of ways than I thought you were."

Draco remained stubbornly silent.

He hadn't heard Voldemort move, but suddenly his chin was yanked harshly in an iron grip. "Do you know what I could do to you, boy?" The smell of acrid breath hit his nostrils and Draco recoiled. "I could show you a world you've never seen before, a world created by your screams and dying breaths. I can allow you to see colors only seen by those in so much agony that their bodies have began to shut down, experience pain so intense it becomes ecstasy. I will tear apart that fragile," Draco flinched. "Pure." He shuddered. "Body. Until there is nothing left but scraps for my Nagini. And you will be aware of it all, unable to lose consciousness… Oh yes, you will feel my pleasure in your ruin. And I will bring you back so I can do it all again."

Draco shook for several long moments, overcome with an anger so severe he could taste it in his mouth. This… this monster threatened him with promises of rape and torture, clearly expecting the boy to yield to him. But Draco wasn't driven by fear now—no, he refused to allow the Dark Lord to enjoy his death.

He would not be given that satisfaction.

"Nothing to say, pretty blood-traitor? Has your fear already become too great, that that tongue of yours has been stalled?" And that was the last straw.

"Fear of you, Dark Lord, would be a waste of my time: I can't fear someone driven by their own terror of death, by the constant delusions of destruction. There are two people you fear in the world. One is an elderly man who loves Muggle candy and socks. The other is a teenage boy whose failing Potions, quite miserably, I must add. My father always said you could measure the worth of a man by his enemies. Neither of these says much about you, I'm afraid." The lashing curse the tore apart his back, exposing muscle and bone to the drafty air didn't hurt as much as it could have.

God, it felt good to talk to Voldemort that way—throwing everything out except for his hatred, his frustration, his desire to make the bastard angrier than he'd ever been, to make him remember Draco, remember him out of all the other, endless faces. He would be remembered. Maybe not by his family, or his pitiful excuses for friends, or even by those who fight against Voldemort. But the Dark Lord would remember him, would remember his words, his insults, his jeers. He would not make this easy. For every blow given to him, he would respond with a blow to Voldemort in the only way he knew how: by attacking the bastard's surprisingly fragile ego.

"I am eternal! I am forever! No one shall kill me, not Dumbledore, not Potter, no one! And you shall obey me, if you want to live. Now tell me, who is the traitor?"

"When people… say what they are, that's usually… w-what they aren't," Draco gasped out. "If you were all seeing, all knowing, you wouldn't… be torturing me for answers, now would… you?"

"_Tell me_."

"Never."

"Crucio!" White-hot agony, cruel and unrelenting, rained down on his vulnerable flesh for what seemed like forever as he screamed and screamed, trying vainly to curl up his body while dangling from the ceiling. Finally, though, it ended.

"Hasss torture loosssened your tongue, fool? Or will you continue to deprive me of answers?"

"The second one," Draco gasped out between choked sobs, shaking from being under the curse for far too long. Not that it mattered if there was permanent nerve damage—how permanent was a couple of days, anyway?

If the Dark Lord decided to keep him alive for that long, even.

"You are just a little boy who failed to save a Muggle girl, failed to be the heir your father wanted you to be, failed to be anything important… you fail at everything. And now you will die."

If Voldemort thought two could play at the game of verbal demolition, he was wrong for one very important reason. Draco knew what buttons to push. He didn't.

"I'm not afraid of death. Hell has to be better than a single moment spent in your company, you sick fu—" Oh. Fuck. That one _hurt_.

"The o-only people you can beat… in a duel h-have t-to be tied up, deprived of a… w-wand, and blinded. Some… D-Dark Lord you are." Another curse. Not sure what it did, but he had the distinct feeling that his intestines were trying to break free of his stomach.

But it didn't hurt so much.

"You a-are weak," Draco shuddered out. "P-pathetic. I… pity you." That was, quite possibly, the best (or worst, depending on how you looked at the situation) thing to say. The roar of uncontrollable, Dark magic rolled over him relatively harmlessly. Obviously Voldemort wanted to savor his death.

Fine.

So long as he had breath to speak, Voldemort would regret every minute Draco stayed alive.

Voldemort let out a sound similar to a growl. "Order members gallivanting around with the traitor in a futile attempt to save you, filthy murderer, you bold little fiend," He feel the heavy breaths on his neck and tried to cringe away, but the hand gripping his hair threatened to rip off his head with every useless tug back. "And you thought I would not know? Oh, little stupid Dragon, I always know!"

"But I see now that I will not get the answers I want from you… the only thing I want to hear from you now is screams. Silencio praeter cruciatus!" (1) Draco felt a chill from the spell and suddenly knew that things were about to get much worse. The spell silenced his words… but not his screams.

**xXxXxXx**

Remus could not believe their luck.

They were, literally, at their destination. The Dark Lord's chambers lay beyond the door, a dark stone monstrosity that seemed as tainted by as much Dark magic as Voldemort himself. There had been no trouble whatsoever, no Death Eaters to stumble across, no Dark creatures or enchantments impeding them. In fact, there were no Death Eaters on the second level. Partially because this level, being part of Voldemort's quarters, was only accessed by the Inner Circle (such as Severus, who had a Potion's lab filled with highly dangerous and volatile substances on the opposite end of the floor). The other reason was because of the Dark Revel happening to be taking place on the First Level.

He saw the parchment of the map lift in the air once more and knew that Severus was checking yet _again _to make sure that the Dark Lord was not in the chambers. The map showed, as it had two minutes ago, that the Dark Lord was in the East Wing of the Manor, far above and to the right of where they currently were. The four of them had exhausted their knowledge of detection spells and counter-curses (which for Bill, was quite a lot) and the quarters were safe to enter, as far as anyone could tell.

Now they just had to do it.

"Severus," Remus spoke hesitantly, "I don't think we can be any more careful."

Severus spared him nary a glance before firing another spell at the doorway, smirking in satisfaction as it flashed a pale orange before. "I wonder if you'd have the same sentiments while bleeding out of your eyeballs, Lupin, which is what would have happened if I'd let you step through the door without countering the last curse on it. Draco may be beyond that door, but I would rather prefer being alive after getting through it. Don't you agree?"

Tonks resisted the very prominent urge to roll her eyes. Snape was just so… urgh! "So can we get this over with now?"

Severus nearly snapped out a 'Ladys first' and pushed her through the door, but decided against it and opened the door himself. He flinched as the lock clicked, expecting his head to be ripped off by some hex he or Weasley hadn't managed to detect, but no such dismemberment was forthcoming. Instead, he encountered a drawing room that seemed to permeate with that particular half-rotten smell the Dark Lord exuded. His heart began to thump with excitement in a way that it hadn't in several years. It would finally be over, Draco's nightmare would end. He was right beyond that door (Severus began to rush towards one of the many doors leading from the drawing room, hardly aware of the others following him) and nothing, nothing would stop him from saving his godson. Draco would be safe, Severus would take care of him and apply for formal guardianship and… and… his godson wasn't in the room.

He stopped short, too stunned to even snap at Weasley for running into his back. His eyes swept over the bedroom, repeatedly, desperately looking for his godson's pale head. But he'd known the moment he walked in that Draco wasn't there. The room was large, with an enormous bed taking up several feet of space. Connected to one of the bedposts was a rather imposing chain with a collar on the end of it. A collar that, certainly, was intended for Draco… that much was evident by the single, almost translucent hair that lay across the chain, immediately noticeable next to the dark metal. Severus swallowed a lump in his throat. Where was Draco?

"This doesn't make sense," Remus muttered, sniffing for the Malfoy child. The map had identified this room as Draco's location. How could it be wrong, when he and Albus collaborated on it's making? Something wasn't right about this… not at all…

He froze for a moment, before rushing to the bed. Pulling a few pillows away from the center of the bed, Remus stared at the object in shock.

There, amongst the silken pillows and sheets, on top of the lavish coverlet was a small, exquisitely made golem. Not more than two inches long, the golem seemed to be made entirely of pale, nearly white strands of hair to form a human shape. His nose told him that the wood underneath the hair had been soaked in Draco's blood.

Severus picked up the small object, unable to comprehend its presence in the room. Golems were rare things, able to trick even the most powerful of magical artifacts. But why—

Severus' eyes widen as he felt magic flair within the room. The spells on the door had merely been a distraction! The hexes that were activated by their entrance into the study were completely undetectable by any spell. It was a trap! And they had stumbled into it like bloody fools lining up for the slaughter! The others seemed to realize it moments after he had and they all made a desperate sprint for the entrance, feeling the powerful waves of Dark magic rising threateningly in the quarters.

The walls themselves seemed to be shaking and bending in on himself and Severus barely avoided a falling stone from the ceiling as he neared the door. A door which seemed to be looking less and less distinct by the moment and that was closing not so slowly. He reached the door first and sailed through the entrance without much difficulty, as the warding charm had yet to build up to it's full power. Remus was second, and Bill and Tonks came a moment later with much more difficulty. The wards were almost fully in place and were attempting the repel Bill (who had a grip on Tonks) from the entrance but Severus reached his hands through without a second thought, nearly pulled back into the rooms by the sucking force the of the magic. He pulled Bill through, with the aid of Lupin (who had, at some point, grabbed onto his waist in order to pull him back).

Tonks tripped over the step leading down from the door at exactly the wrong moment. She slipped from Bill's grasp with a cry, hitting the ground. The door slammed closed with a grating, harsh sound.

She was trapped on the other side.

"Fuck!" It was the first time any of them had ever heard Remus curse. "Tonks! Tonks, can you hear me?"

There was silence for a moment, then a muffled, "Morgana's tits," sounded from behind the door and they all rolled their eyes. But the seriousness of the situation couldn't be denied. They had yet to fulfill their mission to rescue Draco (who could be anywhere in the Manor) and one of their companions was trapped in the Dark Lord's private chambers, of all places. And the fact that Tonks hadn't been disemboweled by some Dark curse meant that Voldemort had intended only to trap them, so that they could be dealt with later. Severus shuddered. He knew how traitors, especially, were 'dealt with'.

"Dammit, what in the hell are we going to do? We can't just leave her here," Bill murmured, grasping at his long fiery locks as he paced back and forth.

Severus' mind worked furiously for a moment before he came up with a solution, staring at Weasley speculatively. "We won't be leaving her. You'll stay here and work on dismantling the spells on the door—you are the most qualified out of the three of us to defuse the curses on the door. Lupin and I will continue on to find Draco and double back for you."

Weasley's clear blue eyes bulged for a moment. "I can't do that! I break ancient, depleted curses off of derelict tombs, for Merlin's sake! I'm not skilled enough to break through the most powerful Dark wizard's warding! That's so beyond me that I wouldn't even know where to start! She'll die!"

"Tonks can't activate her Portkey through wards like these. She'll die regardless, Bill," Remus snapped seriously, not sounding like his usual calm self. "Out of all of us, you are the most experienced with ward-breaking. You have to try while we retrieve Draco. And you'll be relatively safe, as we're all expected to be detained in that room—if anyone was going to show up, they would have done so already. With any luck, they won't be coming back within the next hour."

Bill looked between the two obviously serious wizards before grimacing. "This is insane, you both are aware of that, aren't you? The Dark Lord knows that we're in his headquarters and you're still talking like we have a bit of a chance. Absolutely barking mad. Fuck," he groaned, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. "Fine! I'll try. But you better come back with the Malfoy kid so you can at least have something to show the Order besides Tonks and my desiccated corpses."

Severus didn't bother to explain to the man that it was unlikely they'd have corpses to bring back if the Death Eaters (or Merlin forbid, Voldemort) got to them. He just nodded tersely and began to walk away, hoping that he and the werewolf could pull this foolish maneuver off. "Severus!"

He turned slightly, regarding the other man. "Don't die. We haven't even got to the fun part yet."

Severus' eyebrows furrowed for a moment, before he turned around again. He wasn't sure what Weasley was talking about, but he had bigger things to worry about than a Gryffindor oaf who spoke in riddles. With Lupin beside him, he began to walk down the corridor, glancing down at the map once more. Only Voldmort's dot was visible, but he was positive that Draco was with him. There was no other place he could possibly be.

Which made things infinitely more difficult.

At the same time, Bill turned and stared down the door, facing the biggest challenge he'd ever have as a curse breaker. "I'm going to get you out of there Tonks, just hold on," he called out, readying his wand.

Tonks' reply was muffled, but easily heard. "You always were one hell of a bad liar, Billy."

Bill began to cast spells.

**xXxXxXx**

The blood welling from the rips in his back ran down his sides, first warm and almost soothing, then cold and sticky. He never knew when another curse would hit, when another of his bones would be broken, when the pain would reach its crescendo and he would finally snap, his hardly guarded sanity out of the window. He hoped he was dead before he had to witness the deaths of those trying to save him… he knew he would be responsible, but he didn't want to see it. Draco wanted the sweet oblivion of death. And if that made him a coward, so be it.

He didn't know that his godfather and the long-fired professor he'd once mocked because of shoddy clothes and haggard expression, were not far away. Who were so close, in fact, that they could hear his screams. No, Draco didn't know any of this.

All he knew was pain, and the odd satisfaction that he'd made it so that the Dark Lord would never forget his words.

Another hissed spell and every one his ribs cracked, causing him to scream shrilling, chillingly before he began to choke, blood rising from his insides to his throat, flooding his mouth, making he gag, he hated the taste, hated it so much, he wanted it out, out of him now.

So be it, he thought hazily, blind eyes rolling back at the sound of his hoarse screams, hardly realizing they were coming from him. I'm not… a hero. I should have… never tried. Was he being hurt again? How odd, it didn't seem to hurt at all… he could feel himself fading. Yes, yes, it was over, it would be over soon.

He jerked in his chains, eyes opening in stunned, conscious pain at the feeling of ice-cold water splashing onto his body. "Don't fall asleep yet, silly Draco. We aren't done playing."

Severus was shaking, trembling almost violently with rage as he heard the sounds of his godson being tortured. The spell he employed allowed him to see what was happening, but his head was turned stubbornly away, refusing to look at a sight that would haunt his nightmares. Screams, choked gasps issued from a mouth that could not form words, the harsh sound the magical whip made as it connected with the soft flesh of a teenage boy. Another of Draco's cries sounded in the air, tapering off to an odd keening and Severus found himself being held back by the steel arms of an ex-enemy.

"Lupin," He growled, his voice nearly unrecognizable. "Let me go. Now."

"Not yet, Severus. We have to wait, wait for the perfect moment to strike… otherwise—"

"And when exactly will that perfect moment be? Before or after Draco is dead," He snarled out, knowing that the moment hadn't come yet for them to move. The Dark Lord was facing them and would notice too soon if they were to go in now. They would be stopped.

This had to be executed perfectly. Severus gritted his teeth and waited.

Draco felt the dull, rounded end of a wand on his abdomen for a moment before Voldemort began to drag it downwards, leaving a trail of fire (at least it seemed) its path. Draco could no longer scream, his throat was torn, but he made an odd keening noise, the noise of a half-mad, pained animal. He jerked away. It didn't matter. He faintly heard the Dark Lord murmur, "Such a pretty boy," over the sound of blood rushing in his ears.

Oh gods, when would this end?

He couldn't hold on. _I'm sorry Severus. I'm too weak… I can't wait any longer._

_I can't, I can't... I can'tIcan'tIcan't— _

**TBC --- Next chapter, the last part of Draco's rescue and Grimmauld Place!**  

(1) Silencio praeter cruciatus—'Silence all but pain' A spell to stop someone from talking, but not from screaming in pain (because the Dark Lord's that sick).


	16. The Raid, Pt 3

**Rating**: R (Adult)

**Genre**: Romance, Drama, Angst, H/C

**Pairing**: Harry/Draco

**Warnings**: Language, Anal, Explicit Torture, Disturbing imagery.

**Disclaimer**: In no way, shape or form do I own any portion of the Harry Potter Universe. I am not making any profit from this fanfiction.

**Summary**: When Draco disobeys everything he's learned in a single action, he is made a prisoner in his own home. Can Harry and Severus save him, or will he be destroyed by an obsessive Dark Lord's plans? Can bonds of love and friendship triumph over ultimate evil? Harry/Draco, H/C, Tort, Lang, Anal

**Author's Note**: Well, my computer crashed. Lots of fun, that. I had to hack my butt off to get these files off of my hard drive, which was nearly fried by the way. But now I've learned my lesson… I'm going to keep like twelve back-ups of every fanfic file I have. Seriously. And there's really no excuse for this unintended hiatus—sorry, sorry, sorry! I'll try to never leave it more than a month before I update this story. I do want to get it finished, can't stand the idea of this staying a WIP.

Thanks to my wonderful beta, **Vittani**, for making sure I didn't give up on this chapter.

Also, I don't think this chapter is my best, the rescue scene might seem a bit too easy, but I can promise that there's a reason for that—something that you'll have to continue reading to find out ^_^.

**Chapter Sixteen**: The Raid, Pt. 3

Harry's stomach gurgled, but his hunger was easily ignored as he paced around the small room and waited for their return. He refused to consider the fact that they wouldn't come back into his mind, but wasn't naïve enough to dismiss the likelihood that _someone_ would be injured upon their return. Malfoy would certainly be in a bad way, and he could only hope that whatever injuries the others had weren't bad enough to call on Madame Pomfrey. They really didn't want to involve her at this stage… but Harry figured it might as well be inevitable.

They had left three hours ago, and each minute that ticked by drove Harry's nerves a bit barmier. He wished they would just, _hurry _up already and get back. And he knew how irrational that was, but he couldn't be bothered to truly care. The door creaked suddenly as it was pushed open, and Harry jumped slightly before relaxing at the familiar sight of Padfoot. He couldn't help but note that his godfather's Animagus form was looking much better than it had a few short weeks ago. Padfoot had looked little more than a half-starved, bedraggled waif back then. Now he was a powerful canine with rolling muscles and thick, shiny black fur. He still had a couple more pounds to gain before he was restored fully to his former glory, but his overall transformation was still startling.

Padfoot gave a small growling whine as a greeting, and proceeded to prowl around the room, sniffing for Remus' scent, no doubt.

"Hey, Siri," Harry ventured, already able to tell that his godfather was half-mad with worry over his lover.

After sniffing around for a few more seconds, the large grim bounded over to his godson, pushing at Harry's stomach with his snout until the boy stumbled over to the large couch and fell down. Padfoot then proceeded to jump on the couch, laying his heavy frame over his godson's lap and nudging Harry's hand until the boy rolled his eyes and proceeded to scratch the dog behind his ears.

"You are so spoiled," Harry murmured, scratching him for a bit before smacking Padfoot on the back of the head. The Animagus' two hundred-plus pounds were making his legs go numb. Padfoot gave a rather undog-like snort at that, sitting up on his haunches and transforming back into Sirius.

"This waiting is driving me bloody mad. I can't believe I actually let Remus go on this… this fool's errand What in the hell was I thinking?"

"You were thinking that Remus is his own man, and regardless of how much you love him, you don't control him. And that, deep down, you know what he is doing is right."

"I was?"

"You were," Harry verified wryly, watching as Sirius frowned deeply. "Besides, Remus is with Bill, Tonks, and Snape. He's going to be fine."

"Who taught you to be reassuring?" Sirius asked with a grimace. "Because I have to let them know that they failed utterly."

"Ha, very funny. What I meant was that he's with an Auror, a Curse-breaker, and a very skilled Potion's Master with an extensive knowledge of Dark and Light Arts."

"Well when you put it like that…" Sirius paused, collapsing into an armchair. "…I'm still not very reassured."

Harry really didn't have anything to say to that, so he opted to stay quiet, running his hand through his messy hair. They were quiet for a couple of minutes. Then…

"You do know that Ron and Hermione are looking for you, right?"

Harry blinked, suddenly realizing that he couldn't remember the last time he'd even spoken to his best friends. Ron had spent a couple of days at the Burrow along with Ginny as the Order tried to figure out what to do about 'the recruit,' among other issues. But Hermione was spending the summer at Grimmauld Place, and the last time Harry had given her more than a passing glance was… when he blew up at her for mentioning the circumstances surrounding Sirius' death.

Harry winced. _She probably thinks I'm still holding a grudge or something. _Really, he knew that she hadn't meant things the way they sounded, and Harry _was_ still a bit sensitive about the whole deal.

"Hey, what's that look for? Everything's alright with you guys, isn't it?"

Harry determinately stared at the wall. "I think."

Sirius' eyebrows rose. "You think? They're your best friends and you _think_ that you guys might be okay?"

Well, when he put it like that, it sounded even worse. "It's just… complicated. I haven't really seen much of them since this whole deal with, y'know," Harry waved his hand in a complicated gesture. "And Hermione had a bit of a disagreement with me before this all happened."

Sirius made a small 'ah' sound, nodding thoughtfully. "Well, why don't you take time to spend with your friends once this whole mess is over, then? Not like you owe that Malfoy brat anything—you've done more than enough for the twat and it's not like you're going to want to be around him anymore than you have to. Besides, you mustn't let things get stale between you guys. Believe me, that last thing anyone wants is a ruined friendship," he finished, mouth twisted slightly in a grimace.

But Harry was already shaking his head. "I'll do what I can when D-Malfoy is brought back here to spend a bit of time with Ron and Hermione, but I can't make any promises. I'm going to have to convince the Order that Malfoy isn't a danger, and I can't exactly do that if I'm avoiding him as much as they are… but I doubt that he's changed much. I wouldn't be surprised if he started complaining about the size of his room the moment he's feeling well enough to. Still, I've promised myself that I would give him a chance—no one can suffer like he has for doing the right thing and still be such a bloody prat."

"I still don't see how it would be hard for you to make time for your two best friends. They've stuck by you for the longest time, Harry, and you shouldn't lock them out of your life for no reason," Sirius reprimanded slightly, for once sounding like the father figure he was.

Harry winced a little, turning his head slightly as he stared blankly at the wall for a moment. "No. You're right… it's not just about Malfoy. Sometimes, I think about this past year, think about all that I've _seen_, all the time I've spent in Voldemort's head, hearing all of his sick and twisted thoughts like they are my own; waking up in the middle of the night reaching for a wand, thinking that I'm going to be attacked… and I feel so _old_, Sirius. I'm just scared that I'll won't be able to relate to them anymore, that I'll go play Exploding Snap with Ron and find out that it no longer interests me or that I have nothing to talk about. I feel like I've changed so much, and that they've stayed the same. And it hurts."

Sirius was silent for a long moment before he sighed deeply, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder and shaking him reassuringly. He still didn't say anything, and Harry wondered if there was anything he _could_ say.

And so Harry went back to counting minutes, waiting for Draco Malfoy to arrive at Grimmauld Place.

**xXxXxXx**

He heard the man next to him growl as Voldemort referred to his godson as a 'pretty boy,' but did hardly acknowledge it. Inside, he was seething, so much that he almost felt his blood boiling, the steam of it rising in his veins and clouding his judgment. His fingers twitched along his wand, aching to cast a spell, any spell that would give Voldemort even a modicum of the pain that Draco was experiencing, had experienced at the monster's hand. But they must wait for the right moment, there was no room for error. He grasped the vial in his robe pocket, taking it and handing it to the werewolf. There was no shame in admitting which one of them had the better aim to Severus, at least not in a situation that was so dire.

The Dark Lord's back was turned to them as he stepped far enough from Draco to be safe, _finally_, and Severus met Lupin's amber eyes for a moment, watching as the other man nodded in agreement. If it were not for the situation, he would have snorted. As if he needed the werewolf's approval on his every action.

In the next moments, three simply amazing things happened. First, Remus threw the small vial of black liquid with deadly accuracy, the potion soaring through the air, solidly focused on its target. Severus waited in baited breath for half a second, needing it to be just a _bit_ closer, before striking with the same deadly accuracy as the werewolf at the glass vial. His nonverbal spell hit it at exactly the right moment, causing a close range wave of flames, which flickered blue and black. It hit. Made contact. With the Dark Lord.

With the unique, toxic formula of Dragon's blood, mandrake root, basilisk scales, Mer skin, the potion had the effect of liquid Fiendfyre, except twice as hot, made to trigger only on a specific individual, and thrice as deadly. Voldemort, nothing more than an inhumanly shrieking ball of black flames, hit the wall so forcefully that it caved with an explosion that shook the foundations of Malfoy Manor. The sight was stunning, to say the least. The idea that he'd brought down the Dark Lord, however temporarily, was quite the ego stoker. The damned Felix Felicis wasn't helping either.

The prophecy wouldn't allow for anyone to do anything but temporarily incapacitate the bastard.

It had to be Potter, after all, who dealt the final blow.

Severus was in the room a moment later, avoiding the black smoke and flames as he made a beeline for his godson. And, consequently, he laid eyes on Draco for the first time since he'd seen huddled in that disgusting cell too many days to go. This was, by far, much worse.

He wasn't even sure the boy was alive until he saw him breathing.

Draco seemed dazed, hanging limply from the metal that bound his wrists. Blood was dripping steadily from nearly every part of his body below the neck and he shook slightly in after-affects of the Cruciatus. Cuts that gleamed wetly with red liquid almost seemed to gape on Draco's torso and back. Severus could see glimpse of bone near the boy's ribs when Draco drew a sudden, shaking breath. Long strands of his blond hair swung in front of his face, soiled with blood and dyed red because of it. Just like before, Draco's face was mostly unharmed, only the shallowest of cuts and shadows of bruises under his eyes and chin. His eyes were clenched shut, tears streaming from them almost rebelliously and his mouth was clench tight, as if he were fighting off a scream at this very moment. Severus knew they had to hurry, that he had to free Draco now, but the boy was so hurt… and there was no place Severus could touch him that wouldn't make that pain worse.

"Gods," he heard the werewolf mutter hoarsely behind him, and for once, they were in perfect agreement. This was utterly… monstrous.

The softly spoken word spurred him into action and Severus let out a nonverbal spell to release Draco from the chains, catching the frail, bleeding boy in his arms and immediately moved out of the room and a little ways into the hallway. Draco let out a pained whine beneath his clenched teeth, immediately struggling from Severus' grip with shaking coltish limbs that didn't seem to cooperate. Severus stilled for a moment, the boy obviously didn't know who he was.

"Draco," he spoke quietly, close to the boy's ear as he held the struggling body securely. "It's Severus."

He seemed to still for a moment, blank eyes opening briefly and he heard Remus' sharp intake of breath. Then Draco shook his head furiously and buckled his body with a strength he shouldn't be able to possess in his condition, causing Severus to grip him tightly.

He seemed to be trying to speak, but only harsh whimpers and groans seemed to be able to leave his bleeding mouth. Severus had sudden fear to check inside the boy's mouth to make sure his tongue hadn't been removed when Remus uttered a quiet, "_Finite Incantatem."_

Immediately, Draco's almost animalistic sounds began to resemble words. "L-let me… go you b-bastard! You-you c-can't expect me… to fall f-for t-that. Lemme _go_, Severus is dead, I know he's dead, you killed him you _fucker_—" Severus was both relieved and worried that his godson was currently cursing him to the high heavens.

"I'm here, it's alright now, Draco," he spoke evenly, trying to calm the boy's obvious hysteria.

"No, no—" Draco whimpered. "Severus is dead," he almost moaned out in despair. "You killed him."

Severus was about to respond gently when he heard the sounds of feet coming down the opposite end the corridor. Death Eaters coming to check on their beloved master no doubt, and at the worst time. "Listen to me very carefully, Draco," Severus hissed, knowing what his godson would respond to. "I just turned the Dark Lord into a fireball not a full two minutes ago. I can assure you I am most definitely _not_ dead. I will be dead, however, if you don't stop screaming like some bumbling fool. Those footsteps you hear are from Death Eaters, none of which will be very happy to see us after they take a look at their smoldering master. Pull it together if you want to get out of here alive. Now."

Remus was staring at him disapprovingly, but he cared little since Draco's struggles ceased as the boy choked out a weak, "Severus?"

"Yes. Now quiet. It's alright now, I've got you."

The boy's body shuddered for a moment before falling limp, finally succumbing to the pain.

Severus gathered up the injured body next to his own, tensing out of reflex when Remus pointed his wand in Draco's direction. But it was simply a mild sleeping charm to insure the boy didn't wake in another panic, and healing spell to stop most of the bleeding.

"We need to leave. Now."

Severus glared at the werewolf for stating the obvious, before setting off swiftly in the direction of Tonks and Weasley. It would only be minutes before the Death Eaters, as woefully idiotic as most were, realized what was afoot. They were dead if they didn't get to the forest before every sycophantic worshipper in the manor began to search for them. Especially if the Dark Lord healed as fast as Severus thought he would, which meant the monster would only be incapacitated for twenty minutes if they were lucky. Severus couldn't help but smirk as he held his bleeding, unconscious, _alive _godson in his arms. If anything was going for them tonight, it would be luck.

The smirk was quickly wiped away when they finally reached Bill, who was waving his wand in archaic motions that Severus had only seen in books towards the door to the Dark Lord's chambers, which was shimmering malevolently with sick yellow light.

Damnation. Tonks was still on the other side. And if they couldn't get her out within the next five minutes, she would have to stay there.

Bill didn't seem to hear them coming at first, his tall frame taunt with the force of his spell work and his brow furrowed in concentration. Then looked to the side for a moment and his mouth turned upwards in a tired, grim smile. "See you…got what you came for."

Remus opened his mouth to reply when Severus jumped in. "You have five minutes, William. We can't stall any longer." Severus saw Remus stare at him as if he hadn't known the same thing, as if he was going to protest the fact that they could stand in front of the door forever and wait for the Death Eaters, or gods forbid Voldemort, to find them.

"Wait," Bill panted out, visibly sweating and shaking. "I-I've almost g-got i-it… just a l-little b-bit more." But regardless of what Weasley was saying, it was obvious the man had strained his magic to the max and had little left in reserves. If he drained his magic anymore, there would probably be permanent damage to the man's magical core. At the very least, he wouldn't be of any use if they had to carry him out of Malfoy Manor.

Severus didn't even blink pausing to gently lay his godson down, snapping out a stern "Watch over him," to Lupin. He then walked behind the red haired man, placing his hand flat against Bill's back, directly in the middle of his shoulder blades. He closed his eyes and concentrated, wandlessly doing a spell he'd created long ago and had never had use for until now.

He felt Weasley tense in shock, his body suddenly stronger and his magic seemingly restored.

"W-What—"

"Just finish your curse-breaking," Severus muttered out, hardly able to whisper because of the taxing spell. He felt the red-head pause for a moment, before restarting his spells with new fervor and urgency. Though calling them spells was a bit of a stretch as it sounded as if the other man was continuously chanting, furiously weaving an impromptu, intricate curse-breaking enchantment, changing his language several times.

"Absentis per ut quod redimio(1)! Forvise muren (2)… Revelar a riqueza (3)!"

Severus had created quite an ingenious piece of spell-work, honestly, allowing one wizard to share his magic with another so long as contact was kept between the two. However, Severus hadn't expected how draining it would feel on his end and wondered if he would be able to hold on long enough for Weasley to get Tonks out.

Weasley cast a particularly powerful and complex de-warding hex that sounded faintly Germanic in origin and Severus felt his legs buckle under him for a moment before he locked his knees, refusing to fall. Severus wasn't sure how long he stood there, his hand emanating warmth from its position on Bill's back and his brow dripping in sweat. He was shocked out of his stupor of sorts when a loud 'click' sounded down the corridor as the door _finally_ opened and Tonks, who had been leaning against it for the better part of thirty minutes, tumbled out in a display of her usual grace.

Then they stared at her in shock.

This was a Tonks none of them had ever seen, with ash blond hair only a few shades darker than Draco's and pale blue eyes that shined from under finely arched brows. But that wasn't what made them all freeze for a moment. What did were her pale, pretty features that seemed uncannily like those of Narcissa Malfoy nee Black, a timeless beauty that was far cry from the usual short, spunky colored hair, neon eyes, and stubborn features. She could have been Draco's sister, the resemblance was so strong.

"Whoa," Bill finally whispered in shock, and the moment was gone.

The next second _that_ Tonks was gone, and short blue dreads replaced her fine blond locks while her eyes turned electric green. She was flushed under their stares, and finally hissed out. "Don't even say I look like my aunt. Just don't if you value your limbs. And I fully expect all of you to forget you ever saw that." She gave them all a glare that was somehow menacing even to Severus, and he froze for a moment before rolling his eyes, knelling next to Draco. He didn't notice how Bill's eyes lingered on him in shock, his mouth agape as Severus shakily used his wand to lighten his godson and check the boy's vitals, which were weak but steady at the moment. He didn't notice how Tonks and Remus, confused as to why Bill was suddenly staring at Severus like he'd never seen him before, turned his direction as well. They saw nothing out of the ordinary, of course.

Bill, however, had seen through Severus' glamour when it wavered due to the man's taxing magic transfer spell, or whatever the hell it had been. The shields that kept the concealing magic in place dispersed for a mere moment. Just for a moment. And Bill couldn't move… because. Wow. Just. Freaking. Wow.

Now there was definitely no going back. He was going to lay with Severus Snape if it was the last thing he—

"Weasley, are you quite well? Because we need to move, unless you wanted to greet the Death Eater welcoming party?"

Bill was snapped out of his lust-induced stupor by the snide remark, and he flushed as he looked into the other man's coal eyes… perhaps the one thing that was the same without that pesky glamour covering up his beauty, and even they were dimmed somehow, diminished. He shook himself even more forcibly out of those thoughts, knowing that he would have time later to obsess over the impossibly sexy Severus Snape.

"Righto, lets get the hell out of here," Tonks said pseudo-cheerfully, dragging a bemused Remus by the hand as Severus carefully lifted a lightened bleeding Draco. Tonks glanced back, a smile still on her lips when she caught sight of her younger cousin. "Oh. Oh, _god_. Is he—he's not—?"

"Not yet," Severus replied quietly, unable help the relief that spread through his body with every weak, shaky breath his godson took. That was all Severus needed Draco to do. To keep breathing. To live. And Severus would figure out the rest. He would find a way to get out of this bloody Manor. "But we need to move. Or Draco's health will be the least of our worries."

Tonks nodded, dreadlocks shaking as she did so. They stealthily began to make their way down the corridor, Remus behind everyone, Tonks and Bill to the front, and Severus in the middle protecting their precious cargo. The sounds of echoing cries and orders from above them did nothing to help their nerves. Obviously, the Death Eaters had found their master and were now searching for the culprits, searching for him. They rounded a corner sharply, wands out and a thousand curses on the tips of their tongues. But it was empty.

No one was there.

"What the hell," Tonks muttered. "Not that I'm complaining, but where are the legions of darkness? Shouldn't they be coming to wreak bloody vengeance upon our head or some crap like that?"

Severus couldn't stop his smirk. "I believe you'll find that the 'legions of darkness,' as you put it, are quite detained as they attempt to salvage burning bits of their master."

Her blue eyebrows rose and her mouth formed a goofy, disbelieving grin. "It worked? It actually bloody worked! You torched the Dark Lord?"

Remus and Severus exchanged a rather smug look, a look of camaraderie—Severus blamed it on the Felix Felicis. Surely it wasn't because he was actually learning to tolerate the wolf.

Tonks looked as if she wanted to ask more, but they rounded another corner and her attention was focused on the Death Eaters—five of them, actually—who immediately attacked upon sight. Severus could immediately tell by their nondescript white masks that they were lower level servants, hardly cannon fodder; certainly no match for trained Order members with a vial of Felix Felicis each. _Pity for them_, Severus thought rather viciously, attacking with out a second though. He let loose a wandless slashing hex that caught one of the robed figures in the throat with a bloody arch, causing the man to crash to his knees and gurgle for a few moments before lying still. They would be pulling no punches now—anyone that came near them would be dealt a killing blow. Any Death Eaters left alive out of mercy might end up coming back to kill _them_.

Remus had already gotten another of them with the freezing hex that had served so well against the Russian Tar Spiders, and was well onto his next opponent before the first one shattered into a million bloody ice crystals. While some would believe such brutality was against the man's 'gentle' nature, Severus had seen what the werewolf could do on the battlefields of the first war. In these situations, Remus was ruthless—one of the reasons he was chosen.

Now that they outnumbered the Death Eater's Severus hung back, content to hold Draco's still body while letting the others dispatch the remaining three, which didn't take long at all. Luck truly was on their side, it seemed.

Weasley, in a clever bit of transfiguration, changed the four dead bodies into dead spiders that would lie unnoticed on the stone floor. Tonks waved her wand and muttered, "Tergeo,"4 effectively removing all of the blood from the hallway, and leaving behind no trace of the fight that had just occurred. Once again, Severus commended himself on his choice of 'companions' for this little heist. Even William had his redeemable qualities.

Of course, Weasley then turned around and _winked_, reminded Severus of exactly why he was the most infuriating man known to Wizardry.

They continued down the hallway, and Severus felt a surge of excitement when he saw the entrance to the stairs which lead down to the lower level they'd came in through. The stairway seemed to be entirely deserted, and while the clamor of Death Eaters on the floors above them was audible, the sounds were not getting any closer. Hopefully things would stay that way, and they wouldn't have to fight their way out. They were almost out, Draco was still alive, _they_ were all still alive, and he was beginning to think that the Felicis Felix was the best idea he'd ever had.

"Great," Tonks muttered, shattering his momentary (and highly uncharacteristic) goodwill. "Lethifolds, here we come. Again."

"Lethifolds are the least of dangers that we could be facing," Weasley remarked. "This is turning out to be far easier than I imagined."

Bill froze as he found himself on the receiving end of three incredulous stares. "What?"

"Are you familiar with the concept of a 'jinx'?" Remus remarked mildly, an eyebrow rising.

"Jinx, sminx… lets just get the hell out of here," Bill grumbled, beginning the group's descent down the stairway. In a moment, the red-head's playfulness was gone, replaced swiftly by a keen alertness and grace as he led the group down the staircase. He waved his wand to-and-fro while muttering lowly, intent on catching any traps so that the potential disaster with Tonks didn't repeat itself. Severus followed, with Tonks and Remus close behind him. The hallway was just as dark and dank as before, the Lethifolds billowing black robes that somehow seemed darker than the darkness in the unlit hallway. As they finished their descent and reached the bottom floor, they once again began to form the same line they had before when they realized that they hadn't counted on something—Draco.

He was lying limp and bloody in Severus' arms' still a _child_ by Wizarding standards, and the Lethifolds began stir excitedly at the smell of an injured adolescent. As the horde of cloaks began to descend on them, Tonks cursed creatively and Bill whispered, "Damn, but we really didn't think this part through."

Thinking quickly, Remus summoned his Patronus charm and Tonks and Bill followed suit. But the Patronus charm was one of the few spells that Severus had never been truly adept at so he concentrated frantically on wandlessly constructing a powerful shield that would cover both himself and Draco. He couldn't even think about helping the others at the moment—if they couldn't protect themselves from a few Lethifolds, then he would not be able to step in on their behalves.

Severus didn't even notice Bill telling him to run until the red-head latched onto his arm and began to pull him along, three corporeal Patronus' rushing along side them to fend off the Lethifolds. The next few minutes were some of the longest of Severus' life. He was still drained from the magic he'd shared with Bill and his shield collapsed about halfway through the Lethifolds, leaving himself and Draco completely unprotected. Suddenly, the full crushing weight of Dark Creatures and the difficulty of breathing made itself known—but Weasley's hand stayed clamped around his arm, pulling him along past the danger. The man's Patronus, a large Sphinx, seemed to grow until it was a mass of white light that lit the hallway and the creatures reeled away in agony as it protected not only Bill, but Severus and Draco as well. And for a few moments, Severus knew what it felt like to have someone care about his wellbeing as much as their own for the first time in his life.

Then it was over, and everyone was gasping for breathe but unwilling to stop running until the exit was in sight, a nearly indiscernible patch of dim light in the darkness and they all clambered for it even though the Lethifolds were far behind them. Something was telling them to run, run for their lives and when they finally flung the door open and stepped out onto the grass, they found out why. The bottom level of Malfoy Manor, the floor they'd just exited, was suddenly lit with a scorching Fiendfyre that would have no doubt killed them all had they been a second slower. And as they gasped for breath, trying to find the energy to get back up and run for the forest, Remus (who was nearly completely recovered, the bastard) managed a, "That luck potion's one hell of an invention."

Severus, in the middle of checking Draco's weak vitals, smirked tiredly at the backhanded comment. Had the potion not urged them, not fabricated a sense of urgency when there shouldn't have been one, they would have all been burned.

Then they continued on to the forest, knowing that the Death Eaters were not far behind. When they got to the first tree, they all began to exchange each other confused and slightly incredulous looks—it was hard to believe that they'd all gotten out alive with the mission fulfilled, even as they stood in front of each other. Even on missions that weren't this risky often ended with a life lost more often than not. And Severus, for a moment, thought that he might have stumbled onto a combination of people—a _team_—that was unbeatable. Then he rolled his eyes, cursing the euphoric effects of the Felix Felicis. They weren't out of danger yet.

They were traveling through the forest at a slightly more sedate pace, still striving to get to the point where they could Apparate but everyone was worn down, tired and aching and longing to get back to Headquarters. Severus was perhaps more tired than them all, but he could feel a well of endless energy within himself every time he took a glance at the boy in his arms. This had been all done for Draco, but he hadn't honestly expected to find his godson remotely coherent or even _alive_. Even though he'd known the Dark Lord seemed to believe Draco had something he wanted, Severus knew better than anyone how temperamental the bastard could be, how he could go from seeing Draco as a valued possession to someone to rape and torture and kill. That had been his greatest fear, finding his godson cold and dead in some room, completely ravaged by the Dark Lord's lust and rage. And while Draco was badly hurt, he knew who he was, knew who Severus was, and had enough energy to curse in a way that was most unbecoming of a pure blood heir. And it made Severus was to scream out his relief to the stars.

Not that Draco hadn't gone through a terrible ordeal and wouldn't be changed because of it. But now, at least, Severus had the opportunity to help his godson survive what had been done to him. He could help Draco live past this. Even though he knew that he should be focused purely on getting out of danger, he couldn't help but glance down at Draco's face and try to gauge the boy's state—both mental and physical.

What he saw made him suppress a chuckle. Pale, weak, and bloodied, Draco's face somehow reflected a deep stubbornness, a refusal to give up. And suddenly, Severus knew everything was going to be alright.

Then Weasley interrupted what had to be one of the most affectionate moments in Severus' life. "So, how's he doing?"

Severus picked up his pace, hoping that the man would get the message but Weasley merely kept up with him, long legs doing all the work.

"He's alive," Severus finally snapped out curtly.

"Well, I figured as much," the man said with an eye roll. "I meant, do you think he's going to be okay? Not just physically, but mentally?"

Severus shrugged, not willing to give voice to his uncertainties and fears—especially not to Weasley.

The red-head didn't seem to take offense to his silence. He smiled a bit sadly at Severus, patting at his shoulder for a moment too long to be merely _reassuring _before speaking again. "I think everything will be alright. If anyone can help him, you can." Then the man was too far behind him for Severus to reply, guarding Severus and Draco from behind.

_What in the hell?_

Was Weasley… coming on to him?

Severus' obsidian eyes widened and his glamour wavered slightly before he got a hold of himself, mentally scolding himself for his own foolishness. Of course Weasley wasn't interested in him, who would be? The man was just extraordinarily common, hanging off of and touching everyone like some kind of gangly fool. He meant Severus no special attention. Which he was eternally grateful for, he wasn't looking for a lovesick fool to follow him around. Severus relentlessly squashed down the small tendril of disappointment so quickly he was able to deceive himself into thinking that he hadn't felt it.

They were silent for a long while, the forest yielding no dangers to them. A small chimera had attempted to attack them a while back, but upon seeing Remus, merely snarled and backed away. Tonks had raised her eyebrows, teasing Remus with a tacky 'alpha male' comment while the werewolf merely looked confused and slightly embarrassed.

And then they were out of the forest, the moon shining down on them once again now that it was no longer hidden by the canopies of large trees. Severus could immediately tell the difference in the magic, the shield that had kept them from Apparating or Portkeying dissipating as they cleared the last tree. Knowing that they were finally out, nearly _safe_, caused Severus to feel weak with relief until he realized that it wasn't just relief that was making him feel weak. His knees buckled and he would have fallen had Remus and Bill not been there, Remus to take Draco out of his arms so that boy wouldn't be harmed (which Severus snarled at him quite irrationally for) and Bill to steady Severus. However, when it became clear that Severus wasn't going to be able to walk on his own, it was quickly agreed that they would use their emergency Portkeys—not exactly ideal, but it wasn't as if Severus could Apparate them all again without splinching being involved.

Severus grudging gave Remus Draco's Portkey, hating that the man was touching his godson but accepting that he was too weak to do so. Especially if he was allowing bloody _Weasley_ to hold him up.

The sounds of Death Eaters in the forest behind them were heard and they couldn't help but exchange a few smirks. They were too late to stop them now, far too late. And, with a flash of five Portkeys activating, they were gone.

When they appeared at Grimmauld Place, completely exhausted, filthy and triumphant, they were met by a relieved Potter and Black. Severus was only able to demand that Draco be checked over at once before succumbing to the draw of unconsciousness, unworried for the longest time.

If he only knew what the Dark Lord had planed, he may not have been able to drop off so easily.

**xXxXxXx**

It was not impossible. Improbably, certainly. But not impossible.

A Dark Lord, a mage of unimaginable Dark forces, a master of Forces that most feared to speak of, an immortal whose name was dreaded more than any curse, a being even as great and powerful as himself… could fall privy to a slight lapse in judgment. A true rarity, but it was possible. And one of Harry's greatness talents was to privately admit his mistakes and make sure they could never be repeated.

And he did admit.

He lost his temper, a regretful lack of self-control. As a consequence, he nearly lost the most powerful weapon he'd ever had the fortune of laying hands on… which would be more than regrettable. In many ways, he had those fools from the Order to thank for the fact that the key to winning his war still existed. If they hadn't taken the boy away when they did, he might have died in the Dark Lord's hands.

And that just wouldn't have done. Harry would have regretted that action more than he'd regretted anything else in his existence.

Except, perhaps, the fact that he hadn't killed Lily Potter while that retched child was still in her womb.

But those were thoughts for another day.

Yes, he did owe Severus, the traitor, compensation for his rescue of Draco. Because of him, his little weapon was breathing somewhere, ready for when Harry needed him. Kept safe from harm in a secure location… well, he couldn't have planned it better himself. Thin, serpentine lips curled up in an absurd mockery of a smile. Yes, he would find a way to… thank Severus for his services rendered.

**TBC**

(1) Absentis per ut quod redimio—Latin for 'Away with that which binds'

(2) Forvise muren—Norwegian for 'Banish the wall'

(3) Revelar a riqueza—Portuguese for 'Reveal the treasure'


End file.
